Cracks Begin To Show
by wolfheart312
Summary: Castiel has always been fascinated by humans. Now that he has a chance to be with one face-to-face, he's going to discover just how vexing they can be. However, along the way he might just discover how amazing and kind they can be as well. (Destiel, fair warning, my first fic so be nice!)
1. Introduction

**[Disclaimer: I own nothing but this idea, everything else belongs to the writers of Supernatural.]**

**Chapter 1**

Castiel knew, from millennia of observations, how irrational and erratic the humans could be. He'd witnessed war, betrayal, genocide, heartbreak, and countless other atrocities. Often he wondered why his Father loved them so much more than the angels.

Then he turned his head away from the violence and the mayhem, and he saw the beauty.

He saw the art that they created, life strewn in vibrant colors onto a canvas with a few strokes. Raw emotion coaxed out of their instruments with a few keys plucked in the right order. Incredible passions conveyed with a few symbols arranged a certain way on a page. These humans, finite and seemingly insignificant as they were, could create and feel in a way that was incomprehensible to him and his siblings. Most of them, because they could not comprehend it, chose to dismiss it as meaningless tripe.

Castiel, however, had always been different. The humans, with their wild emotions and their brilliant music and their seemingly endless ingenuity, never failed to fascinate him. For eons he watched them, with an almost childlike wonder. His thoughts danced around them constantly. He didn't understand them, but that just made them even more interesting. They became something of an obsession of his, these strange, confusing creatures that fought and hurt and loved and laughed and lived in a way that seemed all at once dreadful and beautiful to the ancient Seraph.

So when he was finally presented with an opportunity to be involved with the humans, Castiel jumped at the chance. He was eager to see firsthand what earth was like.

He wanted to see a sunset through human eyes, even if it was only a vessel.

He wanted to taste the human delicacies, wine and chocolate.

But most of all, he wanted to see these fascinating creatures up close.

Castiel fought to contain his enthusiasm. They knew of his fascination with the humans, but they did not know the degree of its intensity, and he wanted it to stay that way. If they knew how enamored he had become with the human race, they would never let him do this job. They would keep him locked up here in Heaven, and he would always be trapped, longing to be closer to the humans just beyond his reach. He had to appear detached to achieve his heart's wishes.

They seemed to believe his apparent detachment. They let him go with minimal fuss, anyways.

If he had known what this mission would entail, perhaps he would not have been so eager. Had he been aware of the pain and confusion in store for him, perhaps the angel would have hesitated or even changed his mind.

But he had no inkling—he was an angel, not a prophet. Just an angel, eager to see the objects of his fascination up-close. He departed Heaven forthwith, with no idea what he was getting himself into.

* * *

><p>Castiel had not left Heaven in eons. And he had <em>never<em> entered Hell.

He took a deep breath at the gates. The man he was being sent to rescue was vital to the plan—he was to be Michael's vessel, in the apocalypse. He had to be rescued from Hell.

Castiel had been chosen to save him.

They hadn't told him why, and he hadn't asked. That was part of being an angel—you obeyed orders. You didn't question, didn't doubt—you were a soldier.

It grew weary to Castiel sometimes, but he knew it was for the best. It prevented chaos.

He shook himself from his reverie, and plunged into the depths of Hell.

* * *

><p>Hell was different than what Castiel expected. Everyone associated Hell with fire and the screams of the damned. Castiel expected flames and heat and agonized cries for help that he would have to ignore.<p>

Instead, he was greeted by cold and dark, silent other than the broken sobs of the trapped souls. It was an inky blackness, more pure and absolute than anything he'd ever witnessed. There was nothing ahead of him but a void, seemingly endless, warning him to turn back, flee, to escape while he still had the chance.

Castiel shivered—the cold did not bother him, but this eerie silent darkness gave him a sense of foreboding. He knew, logically, that he was not in real danger—he was an angel of the Lord, and he could handle a few demons.

The angel took a deep breath and plunged onwards into the smothering darkness.

* * *

><p>Time was difficult to gauge accurately in Hell. He fought for what could have been decades, or simply a few moments, Castiel didn't know. He only knew that the tortured soul of Dean Winchester was waiting to be saved.<p>

_Save Dean. That's your mission. Nothing else matters._

_Ignore the demons clawing at you. _Castiel smote them with barely a glance.

_Don't look at the other souls. You aren't allowed to save them. _That was harder. There were countless souls in Hell, wailing and writhing under the intense torture they were forced to endure. Many cringed away from him, perhaps thinking he was a demon to cause them further pain and misery. Castiel didn't know, and he didn't care because it meant that he could continue past them more easily.

The others, though, the ones grasping at him, begging for salvation…He ached to deliver them—he didn't want to leave anyone here. No matter how badly they had sinned on Earth, he didn't believe they deserved to be left here, forsaken and hopeless.

But he had orders. Save Dean Winchester. Only Dean. So, with a wince and a guilty conscience that he tried to overlook, Castiel carried on further into the depths of the pit.

* * *

><p>In the lower levels of Hell, the places reserved for the truly wicked, the ones who committed the greatest sins, Hell became more like what Castiel had been expecting. It was a relief to escape the smothering blackness and the chill, but he wasn't sure this was any better. The reeking smell of burned flesh assaulted him, and he wasn't sure whether it was the damned souls' or his own, because he could feel the Hellfire licking at him, searing his wings and every bit of exposed skin agonizingly.<p>

Castiel wanted to turn back. He was just a seraph, a low-ranking angel. He wasn't cut out for this…but he had to have faith. He had to follow orders. He'd failed his Father before, but he wasn't going to make that mistake again. He would prove that he could be a good, faithful angel. He would not be like his eldest brother, despite what the others said.

Castiel clenched his teeth against the pain and fought his way onward.

After what seemed an endless stretch of immeasurable fragments of time, blurring by in disjointed, whirling images of blood and fire and torment that would be seared into Castiel's mind for the rest of his eternal existence, he found a glimmer of light in the darkness.

The soul he was seeking.

Every soul was different, unique to the human it resided in. Each one looked different, some as bright as a star, others dark as the pits of Hell, and every variation in-between. This soul, though, was Dean Winchester's. Castiel knew it was him the moment he drew near.

It was bright, brighter than any soul he'd seen while watching earth the last few eons. Castiel's breath caught slightly as he stared in wonder—this soul, it was pure, it was good. Tormented, guilty, and slowly breaking, but purely _good._

It was fractured, though. After being in Hell for so long, Dean Winchester's poor soul was being worn down, corrupted, the darkness around him attempting to penetrate the purity of the soul, slowly destroying everything good and bright about the human he had been. The darkness swirled around the soul, in a sickening movement almost like a caress, but each touch drew a scream from Dean Winchester and grey smoke would rise, as though he was being slowly burned.

The angel leapt forwards, his Grace piercing through the darkness and banishing it instantly, the vile thing unable to stand anything so pure and righteous as the angel's Grace. The moment the darkness dissipated, Dean Winchester began to sob, a sound so miserable and broken that Castiel worried he might be too late. But no, that couldn't be…Castiel wouldn't let it be so.

He frowned—he couldn't return Dean Winchester in this fractured state. He wouldn't survive long if this broken thing was placed inside the torn-up body the hunter had left behind.

Castiel gathered the pieces of soul to him carefully, almost cradling it, fearful that he might cause further damage if he wasn't careful. He frowned when the soul tried to slip away, and he caught a whispered fragment of its chaotic thoughts.

While there were no words, what it—he—what Dean Winchester felt was obvious to Castiel: he didn't want to be saved, because he didn't believe he deserved it. He thought he deserved to be left here.

Castiel frowned, mystified by this strange reaction. He couldn't possibly want to be left here? Shouldn't he be eager to escape? How bad could his guilt be that he thought he deserved to be left in the lowest levels of Hell to rot? Castiel wouldn't accept it—he didn't believe that he deserved to be left here, and he wasn't going to forsake him to such a miserable existence.

"Stop that," Castiel chided, taking a firmer grip on the soul he cradled, ignoring when it writhed and hissed in pain. "You deserve to be saved, Dean. And I will raise you from this God-forsaken place."

And with that, Castiel fought his way back out of Hell, past all the hellhounds and the demons and the countless monsters trying to keep him back. The fight was a blur in his mind, one monster after another attempting futilely to prevent his escape. The one thing that remained clear to him was that he had to keep Dean safe.

_I will save this human, _Castiel silently promised, and although he didn't know who he was promising—himself or Dean, or perhaps even his Father—it felt right to do so. _I will save Dean Winchester._

* * *

><p>When they finally ascended through the gates, Castiel was surprised to discover that he was tired. Fatigue was a rare sensation for angels, not unheard of but not common, either. He must have worn himself out more than he thought. But he had succeeded: He still had a tight grip on Dean Winchester's soul—it had to be returned to his body. But first, he had to be repaired. Dean Winchester, if not broken, was breaking. There were stains and wounds on his soul from that damned place, Castiel knew.<p>

Castiel closed his eyes and ascended further, to a different plane, and he carefully took the fragments of Dean in his hands, his forehead creasing as he concentrated all of his will, his Grace, onto the brightly gleaming soul before him.

The drawn-out scream that followed almost made Castiel falter, but he had to put this soul back together. So he gritted his teeth and continued, the light between his hands growing brighter and brighter, stronger and stronger, until even Castiel could hardly bear it. Just when he thought all hope was lost, that the soul could not be repaired, the light flickered and faded.

In his hands was a complete soul. The soul of Dean Winchester, still hurt and tormented from his recent experiences, but no longer in pieces. He could still see the cracks, the places where it had fallen apart, now held together by Castiel's Grace like a shattered vase being glued back together. It wasn't perfect, far from it, but it was mended enough that it would do.

There was one patch that shone even brighter than the rest—a small piece of the angel's Grace residing in the soul, holding it together. It would always be there, Castiel knew—a scar, a reminder of this whole ordeal. But he had succeeded in his mission: Dean Winchester was saved. That was all that mattered. Castiel smiled, cradling the soul, and descended to a lower plane to reunite the soul with its proper vessel.

They touched down in a desolate field. It looked as though a nuclear blast had gone off. Castiel frowned, wondering if he had landed in the wrong place—but the soul was writhing, fighting to be reunited with its body now that it sensed it was so close.

The seraph smiled, finally releasing his grip on the soul. It flew from his grip and darted over to a patch of dark earth that had a crude cross sticking out of it. It then paused, unsure what to do next. It quivered uncertainly.

Castiel pitied the poor thing—it had been through a lot, small wonder it was disoriented.

"Allow me to help," he suggested, walking over slowly. He placed a hand on the soul, and reached out with his Grace to the body below, forming a conduit for the soul to travel through. It eagerly darted down, into the body.

Castiel shivered when the soul passed through his Grace, shocked as he felt, for the briefest of moments, everything that Dean Winchester was experiencing. The pain, the shock, the guilt…and worst of all was the sadness. This burden was crushing—did humans feel this way every day? How did they bear it?

Then it was all gone. The seraph shuddered at the memory, unsettled and disoriented, but relieved that the staggering sense of emotions was gone. He smiled eagerly, hoping to be there when Dean rose, eager to see his first human up close…

…but precisely then Michael called him home.

Castiel frowned, hesitating for a moment. But he was a soldier, and he never disobeyed a direct order. He sighed in disappointment, and with a flutter of his wings, he was gone.


	2. First Meeting

**[A/N: So things in this story may jump around a bit after this point. I apologize if you don't like that or if it's confusing, but it's just how I pictured it. So be prepared for that in chapters to come, okay?]**

**[Also, I'll be posting updates on my profile so if I don't post anything new for a while, check there for my reasoning.]**

**[In this chapter the beginning I kind of made up, I have no idea how it actually happened but I kind of wanted to include Jimmy in this and I thought it would be interesting. I think it's important to include more than just DESTIEL DESTIEL DESTIEL, to actually include some plot and stuff outside of that too, ya know?]**

**[The dialogue in the middle part is taken straight from the ending of S4Xe01, "Lazarus Rising", but the internal reactions are mostly speculation on my part. I don't own the dialogue, obviously, and the characters are also not mine. All belongs to the god-blessed writers of the most brilliant show there is, and I bow down to them, hoping my inferior writing can still be pleasing to my audience. And after this chapter, I'm going to kind of skip ahead a bit in the timeline. Not a lot, just…bear with me.]**

**[Okay okay, I'm sure you're sick of listening to me by now. On with the show, folks! Enjoy! :)]**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Castiel was thrilled when Michael informed him that it would be him who would be assigned to watch over Dean Winchester until he was prepared to be Michael's vessel, because it meant that he would get to spend more time on earth. With the archangel's attention on him, the Seraph contained his enthusiasm and nodded subserviently, acknowledging his willingness to obey. Satisfied, Michael left him alone, and Castiel allowed himself a small smile as he contemplated the wonders he hoped were ahead of him.

* * *

><p>Finding a vessel was difficult, more so than Castiel had imagined it would be. There were not many humans who were both pure enough to contain the Grace of an angel, and willing to do so. Castiel knew that he could just randomly pick a person who was pure enough, and force them to be his vessel, but the idea repelled him. Not only because it seemed cruel to do so, but because then the vessel would fight him constantly, trying to throw him out or seize control. That just sounded tiresome and unnecessary.<p>

Castiel searched tirelessly, visiting many priests, elders, popes, clergymen, bishops, and evangelists. With each he grew slightly more frustrated as they turned out to have false pretenses, or a lack of faith, or just unwillingness to serve Heaven. They each turned him away, and Castiel became irritated with the difficulty of this project. He had faith, though, that the rewards would be well worth the struggle.

Eventually, after days of fruitless searching, he found a certain human: Jimmy Novak. He had high hopes for this one: he was a man of good faith, who prayed with his family every night and was a good, God-fearing righteous man. If this man didn't say yes, Castiel wasn't sure anyone would.

He spoke to Jimmy Novak, who was able to perceive his true voice. He shared his message and his mission, and Jimmy was more than willing to accept—on the condition that Castiel and the other angels promised to look after his wife and daughter. The angel smiled, pleased with Jimmy's response, and readily agreed, knowing that Michael and the others would honor this covenant.

Once the promise was made, Jimmy Novak opened his soul to the angel. Castiel's Grace poured into him, filling him until there was almost no room left and Jimmy had to retreat into the furthest depths of his mind to keep from being crushed by the higher being he now shared a body with. He went into what could be compared to hibernation—he was alive, he was there, but he wasn't really conscious and couldn't do the things he could before. He was out of commission so long as Castiel was still there.

Castiel was struggling. He had never possessed a vessel before, so he was unprepared for how…_claustrophobic _the sensation was. As an angel, his true form was hard to describe, but the best way to think of it is pure, undiluted energy. Formless, capable of movement of almost any kind, limitless, _free. _This, this was…compact. Weak. Restricted. Things looked different from human eyes—not as vibrant, not as clear. And the _emotions—_they slammed into him the instant he merged with Jimmy Novak. Excitement at having been chosen by Castiel, fatigue after a long day at work, worry for his family, a thousand different feelings and sensations that left the angel dizzy and disoriented for several moments.

Then there was the mind. His own could grasp a thousand concepts in an instant, but this human brain he was contained in was unfocused, his attention being pulled in a thousand directions at once by different sensations and concerns. He had to remember to blink, and breathe, and he could feel each inhale rush down his windpipe to fill his lungs, cool and rich and bringing him the scents of pine and carpet cleaner from the room where he was kneeling, kneeling because Jimmy had been praying.

Once Castiel had oriented himself mentally, he looked down at the body that was now his, and for a moment he was fascinated by all the lines and muscles. The sensation of a heart pounding against his chest rhythmically under layers of flesh and bone and sinew was fascinating, mesmerizing, and the angel took several moments just to enjoy the sensation. After a few minutes, he became used to the feeling, and he adjusted to the sensation of the clothes of his vessel rubbing against his skin in an odd manner as he stood, looking around. The carpet was soft under his bare feet, and Castiel liked that sensation—it was pleasant. Perhaps he could get used to this, despite how different it was from what he was used to.

Castiel glanced down at himself again, taking in his clothes this time: pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He shook his head and went to the closet, pulling out what Jimmy apparently normally wore for work, a white button-up shirt, slacks, and a blue tie, with a trench coat on top. He regarded the vessel in the mirror once he had pulled the clothes on.

His tie was sloppy at best, and the clothes were not completely fitting on him, but that hardly mattered to Castiel. His vessel was now presentable and somewhat professional looking. Ties were considered professional in the human world, were they not? The angel believed they were.

Castiel smiled, and watched in fascination as the vessel corresponded. He was ready. It was time to go meet Dean Winchester.

* * *

><p>Their first face-to-face encounter did not go well. The angel got overly excited to greet the man he had saved, and he was fairly certain he'd frightened the hunter.<p>

At least, he assumed that that was why Dean Winchester and the man with him shot him several times as he strode into the barn they had summoned him to. His vessel felt the pain as each bullet ripped its way through the body he occupied, but Castiel himself was separated from it, so it didn't really affect him, and he just continued forward.

In spite of the lights exploding around him, in spite of the sparks raining from the ceiling, in spite of the man attempting to kill him, Castiel kept his eyes locked on Dean Winchester as he strode forward. The man would flinch a little each time the lights flashed and exploded, and he stared at the angel intently, eyes narrowed in fearful mistrust.

"Who are you?" he growled in a low voice when Castiel stood in front of him.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," Castiel stated simply.

"Yeah? Thanks for that," the hunter replied in a strange tone. The angel felt a strange response in his vessel's facial muscles—a smile? Was he smiling? He wasn't sure why but he seemed to be—and was going to respond when Dean Winchester stabbed a knife into his vessel's chest, burying it up to the hilt, glaring at him.

When he showed no response, no show of pain, Dean looked unnerved and stepped back. Castiel looked down at the knife and pulled it out easily, dropping it carelessly. He again began to speak to Dean, when he sensed an attack from behind. Without removing his eyes from Dean's, he threw his hand up, grabbing the crowbar the other human had attempted to hit him with, and finally turned to regard the other human. Not of import—he could be dealt with later. Right now he needed to speak to Dean without interruption.

Castiel pressed two fingers to the man's head, watching as he slowly fell to his knees, falling into a forced unconscious state.

Dean stared at him with wide eyes. Castiel frowned—was that anger? He didn't fully understand human emotions, and being in this vessel only made it more unclear. The vessel had its own set of emotions that, while not directly affecting Castiel, could be detected by the angel, and would sometimes cloud his judgment. But he was fairly certain Dean Winchester was angry with him for some reason. Had he done something wrong? He hadn't hurt the man.

"We need to talk, Dean. Alone," he added. Dean just glared at him warily, kneeling by the other man and placing two fingers at his throat. That expression was worry, if Castiel was not mistaken. Did Dean believe that he had harmed the older man? Was that why he was angry?

"Your friend is alive," he told Dean, frowning.

"Who are you?" Dean shot back. He was still clearly angry with the angel, not pacified despite the cause of his anger being unfounded. The angel didn't understand—he had not harmed anyone, so why was Dean upset? His friend would be fine.

"I am Castiel."

"Yeah, I figured that much. I mean, _what_ are you?" His words were almost a growl. Castiel studied Dean, his brows slightly wrinkled, head tilting slightly to one side as he attempted to understand the basis of Dean's irritation.

"I'm an angel of the Lord," he told the human, still studying him. Dean's skepticism as he stared at the angel through narrowed eyes was obvious. He stood slowly, never once removing that glare from the seraph before him.

"Get the hell out of here," he growled. "There's no such thing."

"This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith." Dean clearly still did not believe him. Castiel wasn't sure why it was so hard to believe. Was Dean really so sure that only bad things happened? Did he not believe in Heaven, in angels? How could he? Castiel had spent his whole life believing in a Father he had never seen, following orders, doing what he believed was God's will, all on the basis of faith. The obvious lack of it in the man before was confounding—he couldn't fathom such a seemingly dark existence.

Dean's glare brought Castiel back into focus. If he wouldn't take it on faith, perhaps he could show him, give him some tangible proof—but what would he believe? What would sufficiently prove that he was an angel? Not a show of strength—that had obviously not worked before, it had only seemed to make Dean more afraid of him. Perhaps…his wings? But Dean had already been unable to handle his true voice—he had proven that before, when Castiel had tried to speak to him. And that poor fortune teller's eyes had burned out when she had seen his true form.

These humans were so fragile. Castiel didn't want to harm Dean.

All this flashed through Castiel's mind in the time it took for him to form an idea. He turned to face Dean fully, and as light flashed in the barn, he manifested a form of his wings, shadows against the wall that barely hinted at the true form they were representing. It took only a few seconds, and then the light faded.

The angel watched Dean the whole time, gauging his reaction.

He looked confused, to say the least. And still wary. After a few seconds, he spoke. Castiel wasn't sure what he expected—praise? Gratitude? Whatever it was, it wasn't what happened next.

"Some angel you are," he said. "You burned out that poor woman's eyes." A smile was on his face, but he didn't look happy. His eyes were burning with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. The mixed reactions confused Castiel—why did he smile if he was angry? Why put up a false pretense? Human emotions were so multifaceted, they would show one thing and mean completely the opposite. How did he know which one to trust?

"I warned her not to spy on my true form," Castiel informed Dean with a frown, still puzzling over the complexities of human sentiments. "It can be…" He paused, searching for the correct word for a moment. "…overwhelming, to humans." He had warned her—he had told her to turn back, but the stubborn woman had insisted. It was her own fault that she had lost her eyesight from gazing on his true form. Castiel shook himself from this train of thought—it was not his place to assign guilt or blame. That was his Father's job, and His alone. He was simply an angel on a mission. He absent-mindedly added to his explanation, "So can my true voice. But you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel room? That was you talking?" he asked warily. At Castiel's affirming nod, he added, "Buddy, next time lower the volume."

"It was my mistake," the angel replied apologetically. "Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

"And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?"

It took the angel a moment, given the strange phrasing of his latter query, to realize Dean was referring to his vessel. He fidgeted with the trench coat, which was peppered with bullet holes, as he spoke. He was still unused to this body. "This? This is a vessel."

"You're possessing some poor bastard?" Dean seemed disgusted by the idea, horrified even.

"He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this."

"Look pal, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"

Castiel felt his head tilt again in a gesture of confusion, his brow wrinkling. Another thing he wasn't used to was the movements this body would exhibit to portray the emotions he was experiencing—it was distracting because he wanted to study it, but he had to focus on the conversation. He had to convince Dean, to get him to believe. It was imperative for the next step of the mission—preparing him to be Michael's vessel. Dean couldn't know, not yet, but he had to be prepared.

Castiel mentally re-focused himself enough to respond to Dean. "I told you," he said.

"Right, right. And why would an angel rescue _me_ from Hell?" he demanded.

Ah. That's what this was about. Castiel easily recalled pulling Dean out of Hell. He remembered how Dean hadn't wanted to be saved, thought he didn't deserve to be saved. It made the angel sad that this man before him still believed he wasn't worth saving. He stepped closer, unsure why he was doing so but feeling that the proximity, along with the intensity of his words, was necessary to convey the importance of his message.

"Good things do happen, Dean," he informed the Winchester, locking eyes with him as he stood only a pace away. He could see Dean's eyes starting to glisten—that meant he was sad, didn't it? Humans did cry when they were sad? Or in pain? Was Dean sad or in pain? Had Castiel somehow indirectly caused the watering of the man's eyes? He didn't see how, but he must have, because he couldn't fathom why else he would be fighting tears…

Dean's slightly roughened voice interrupted Castiel's thought process.

"Not in my experience," he almost growled, glaring.

"What is the matter?" Castiel frowned, stepping even closer, trying to understand so that he could fix the problem. "You don't think you deserve to be saved?" He, of course, already knew the answer to that. He wasn't sure why he asked, other than that he wanted to convince Dean otherwise. He was experiencing a strange reaction that he thought was related to his nearness to the man, a sort of warmth in his gut and an increase in his vessel's heart rate. The angel wasn't sure what these reactions were, and he chose to dismiss them at the moment, focusing instead on the man before him.

Dean swallowed, looking down and away, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he exhaled roughly. Castiel frowned, but before he could speak Dean ground out from between his teeth, "Why did you do it?", snapping his eyes back to the angel's suddenly. He looked almost accusatory as he glared once more at the angel.

"Because God commanded it. And because we have work to do," Castiel told him. It was the truth, if only part of it. God had commanded that he save Dean Winchester from Hell, but that was not the main reason he had chosen to obey. Castiel had always wanted a chance to be near the humans he watched over, to see them up close and witness for himself all the things they went through. This man did not need to know that, though. Dean's question could be satisfied with the knowledge that he was important to God, and that should be enough.


	3. Adjusting

**[A/N: Alright, it's like 2 a.m. my time right now and I should be asleep...but I just couldn't. I had too many feels and I just needed an outlet. So the laptop was opened and a Word Document pulled up. And thus, chapter 3 is born!]**

**[Special thanks to crowleyswingman, my first-ever reviewer, and to hoellenwauwau, first to comment for chapter 2. And thanks as well to each person who has followed my story—I even got couple of favorites, wow! :) Thanks, guys! I love you all. Happy holidays, here's one more chapter before Christmas—my gift to you! It wasn't easy but here it is—chapter 3!]**

**[Like I said, this takes place a while after the previous chapter. It's not canonically coinciding with any specific episode, so let's just say that it's been several months after "Lazarus Rising", but not quite a year yet. Is that specific enough? Also, not everything in this story after this point is going to follow exact canon, but I don't think that it's AU either…sorry if I'm confusing you guys. Message me with any questions, or drop a review—I thrive on hearing from you guys!]**

**[I kinda suck at dialogue, but I did my best to not go OOC or too boring. Hopefully I did okay—let me know! :) On with the chapter now!]**

**[Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. Characters and plot belong to the writers and producers of Supernatural.]**

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 3<br>**

The Winchester brothers did not like the angel at first—Dean especially. He seemed to resent the seraph and obviously didn't trust him. His brother, Sam, was slightly different. He was in awe of the angel, but he also did not trust him, following his brother's example. When he would appear to the brothers, his greeting was often followed by being bodily slammed against the wall by Dean, who would glare at him for several seconds before reluctantly releasing him.

Castiel could easily throw them off if he wished to, but it did him no harm, and it appeared to please Dean that he could throw the angel around, so he let it happen for the time being. Eventually, gradually, things changed. Instead of reacting with violence and angered yells of "What the hell, Castiel!?" the brothers would simply glance up, give him a nod or wave, and return to what they were doing. Sometimes they even smiled, and they began calling him "Cas".

Nobody had ever called him "Cas" before. He was always just Castiel. He did not understand why they felt the need to shorten his name, but the one time he asked Sam about it—going to the younger Winchester because his easy-going nature made him easier to talk to—the large man had just shrugged and stated that his name was a mouthful, and Cas was easier. Castiel still did not completely understand, but it did not bother him, so he didn't object to the sobriquet.

Things appeared to be settling down. The brothers had grown to accept his presence in their lives, which had become near-constant now. Dean with a resignation that turned to grudging fondness, Sam with a kind of awed respect that became casual deference and even fondness. The angel was content to spend time with the Winchesters when needed.

And when he wasn't with the Winchesters, he was seeing the world as he had often yearned to do. He could go anywhere with a flutter of wings, and he did. He went to New York, New York and saw the Statue of Liberty. He saw the great pyramids, Niagara Falls, the Great Wall of China (he didn't understand that last one—it appeared to be a regular wall to him, albeit large; what was so great about it?), he saw the Amazon jungle and the Nile River, he saw the aurora borealis at the North Pole. It was all stunning, breath-taking (even though he didn't really _need_ to breathe, the connotations of the phrase still applied).

Castiel was enjoying his time on earth. He had even grown fond of the humans in his charge. Sam was an abomination, with his demon-blood addiction and his powers—no human was meant to have that kind of ability. But Castiel soon realized that that was not Sam's fault—he was made that way, not born. And he was a good person in spite of it, always thinking the best of others, focused on the "saving people" part of their 'family business' (Castiel often overheard them referring to what they did as just that, though never in front of him. Family seemed to be a taboo subject). So Castiel liked Sam.

Dean…Dean was complicated. He could be kind, but he could also be cold, almost cruel even. He seemed able to flip it on and off like a switch as needed. The one thing he seemed to constantly feel was pain and anger, though he hid it well from his worrisome brother. Castiel only recognized it because he could see the hunter when he thought he was alone, and he looked desolate. He would often rub his arm, where Castiel's mark was, and the angel would wonder if it bothered him still.

But he didn't understand Dean. The man was pushy and aggressive and sometimes downright infuriating. Then he would be fond and gentle, laughing and mussing Castiel's hair even though the seraph hadn't done anything funny. At least, he didn't think he did. And he didn't understand his reactions to Dean, either. Every time Dean touched him, in even the most casual of manners, a warm feeling would wash over Castiel and settle in his chest, and a strange tightness in the front of his slacks would occur.

It was not altogether unpleasant, but the angel was unsure what these feelings meant, and he was unsure who to ask. He didn't want to ask any angels—they had already accused him of being too close to the Winchesters, and if he revealed that he was experiencing human emotions, they would pull him away from this mission and forbid his return. And now that he was so fond of both earth and its people, now that the Winchester brothers were kind to him and he had had a chance to grow fond of them, he would be unable to bear that.

He didn't want to ask the Winchesters because he did not want to appear foolish and have them laugh at him again. Although human laughter was a pleasant sound, especially Dean's—he rarely relaxed enough for genuine laughter, but when he did it always caused the warm feeling to return to Castiel—he did not enjoy being laughed at, as the brothers had grown fond of doing when he revealed his ignorance for human customs.

The angel would have to figure out these feelings for himself.

* * *

><p>Castiel was lounging in his preferred Heaven—the eternal Tuesday of an autistic man—with his dark wings in their full glory, being pleasantly warmed by the artificial sun, when a hesitant prayer interrupted his thoughts.<p>

_Hey, um, Cas? Can you hear me? Listen, if you're not busy with angel business or whatever, could you come down here? We could use your help…_

Dean's reluctant voice came to him. Dean rarely prayed—he lacked the faith and the patience. So Dean's praying in spite of his hesitance to do so told the angel that this was an important matter. The seraph frowned anxiously—worry was another emotion he was getting used to; he never used to worry for those he cared for, because angels could take care of themselves. Humans, however, were very fragile, and he worried almost constantly for the Winchester brothers.

With a rustle of his wings, the angel was followed the prayer to the man it came from. They were in a motel, a typical location for them. Sam was watching Dean, who was sitting on the bed, with a frown. Dean was saying something about "told you it wouldn't work". Castiel pulled his wings in, and they rustled once more before he was standing at the edge of the bed next to the older brother, nodding a greeting at Sam.

"Hello, Dean," he said by way of greeting. Dean jerked violently—he always jumped if Castiel appeared where the hunter couldn't see him—and whirled to face him, glaring.

"Damn it Cas, I told you not to do that!" he snapped at the angel. Castiel, momentarily distracted by the way the light seemed to dance in Dean's eyes, did not respond. It had been several months since Castiel started spending time with the humans, but human appearances still fascinated him. All the lines and curves that could shift and tense and loosen and move at different angles to convey a thousand messages without saying a word—it was a thing of beauty to the angel, and he loved to watch them (though Dean had told him this was considered creepy and to cut it out). But Dean's eyes were also distracting—they were like gemstones that hid his soul just behind them, the soul only Castiel had seen. Perhaps that's why they were so bright and beautiful, with fractures of light dancing in them….

"Cas, focus. We need your help," Sam said, peering at him from behind his long hair, which he brushed back impatiently, once again distracting Cas as he followed the movement with bright curious eyes.

_Focus. Pay attention, they need your help, _the angel chided himself silently. He blinked, shifting his focus to Sam as he nodded. "Of course. I heard Dean's prayer. What is the matter?" He felt his brows wrinkle once more in concern as he asked, returning his gaze to Dean, who glanced away and crossed his arms with a scowl. Castiel frowned—had he done something wrong? Sam's voice once again drew the seraph's attention from his brother, and he saw that the younger Winchester glaring at his brother as he spoke.

"Dean was hurt on our hunt—can you heal him?"

Before Castiel could say anything, Dean's angry voice interjected, "I told you, Sammy, I'm fine."

"Dean, you're not fine. You lost a lot of blood, and I think your wrist is broken. You won't go to a hospital, so let the angel heal you," Sam told him, looking irritated at his older brother.

"Just let me shower and rest, damn it. I only called Cas because you insisted, I didn't think he was going to actually show up! Just leave me alone, damn it!" Dean practically snarled.

"I'm not going to do that, Dean, because you're being an idiot! There's nothing wrong with getting help when you're hurt—"

"I know that—"

"Then quit being such a whiny bitch about letting Cas heal you!"

"I don't need to be healed, I'm fine!"

_Blood loss? Broken wrist? _The angel frowned at Dean, looking him over critically as the brothers continued to argue. There was indeed a telltale dark stain on Dean's t-shirt, and his left wrist was twisted and mangled. It looked very painful, and it was obviously bothering Dean, who kept wincing every time he accidentally jostled it. Yet he adamantly insisted that he didn't need help. Why? Did he just want to suffer?

Castiel frowned, already weary of their bickering. Ignoring Dean's protests, he moved to the hunter's side, placing his palm on Dean's shoulder—just above where he knew the handprint was, since it's where Castiel had the strongest physical connection to Dean—and let his Grace flow into Dean and heal him.

As always, Castiel got a bit of backlash from Dean in the form of emotions. Anger, pain, and sorrow washed over him for an instant, staggering amounts of it. But among all these negative things, there was relief for his brother's safety and fondness for him in general, which made Castiel smile faintly as the emotions faded quickly.

His smile faded to a frown when Dean glared at him. "I told you I was fine," he said from between his teeth, and a flash of irritation caused Castiel to glare back.

"You were not fine. You were in pain, and Sam was right to have you summon me here. You had suffered critical amounts of blood loss, and that was a spiral fracture on your wrist." The angel dropped his hand from the hunter's arm, glaring at him in irritation. He never used to anger so easily—Castiel considered himself fairly calm and mild-mannered—but around the Winchesters, Dean especially, his fuse seemed to shorten. It unnerved him, the affect these humans had on him.

"What he _meant_ to say was thank you, Cas," Sam interjected, sounding exasperated. He glared at his brother, who glared back for a long moment before looking down and repeating Sam's thanks under his breath. Sam came near enough to smack his newly healed brother on the arm, scowling as he chastised him, "Oh for god's sake Dean—sorry, Cas, I know you don't like hearing that—for crying out loud, Dean, quit being so childish! Thank him properly!"

"Sam, it is fine. I do not require a verbal expression of gratitude from your brother. I am simply doing my job," Castiel stated drily.

Dean quirked an eyebrow, glancing at him curiously, anger momentarily replaced with intrigue. "Doing your job? That makes it sound like you're my guardian angel or something." He snorted at the idea, which caused the seraph to arch his eyebrows in response.

"In essence, yes, that is a fair summation of my mission."

"Wait, what? Seriously?" Dean looked surprised and confused, as did Sam. Both gawked at Cas, their argument apparently forgotten in light of this revelation.

"Yes. What did you think I was?" the angel inquired, tilting his head slightly.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I didn't really think about it much." He scratched at his head, then shrugged again. "Alright, so I have a guardian angel. Cool, I guess." Sam glared at his brother, apparently remembering their argument again, and Dean sighed before smiling sheepishly at the angel. "Thanks, Cas. For answering my prayer and for healing me. I owe you one, buddy," he said with a grin. The angel stared at the hunter as the curve of his lips and crinkling of his eyes caused his face to soften and warm into something kind and caring, and his eyes once again captured Castiel's focus as they glimmered like gemstones, and his lashes were so dark, and had he always had those freckles dusting his nose? Castiel couldn't seem to stop staring at Dean's face, and he was barely aware that he was responding to Dean's comment, he was so lost in his thoughts.

"You owe me nothing, Dean," the angel replied automatically. Dean's smile had caused strange emotions in him again, although there was a new sensation accompanying the warmth and tightness: a sort of fluttering sensation in his gut, like the kind he got the one time he ate too much and his vessel got sick. But he didn't think he was sick, so why was his body acting this way?

"Cas, buddy, you okay?" Dean asked, peering at him in concern. The angel looked confused and kind of dazed. Castiel blinked and re-focused on Dean abruptly as he nodded his head in affirmation of his well-being.

"I am well, Dean. I am still adjusting to this body and its reactions," he explained, hoping he would not have to elaborate.

"Right. Well…I'm going to shower," Sam said, and Castiel abruptly realized they had been unintentionally excluding the younger hunter from the conversation. He cast him an apologetic look, but Sam smiled reassuringly so the angel smiled back, relieved he had not hurt or offended his friend. "You two have fun," he added, with a wink at Dean, who flushed and looked irritated as he lifted his middle finger at Sam, scowling. Sam retreated to the bathroom with a laugh, and moments later they heard the water going.

Castiel frowned. Why had Sam winked? And why did Dean appear so irritated about it? Castiel glanced at him questioningly, but Dean just shook his head and shrugged. The angel had come to understand through familiarity that that meant Dean either did not know or did not wish to discuss it. He obviously knew, so it must be the latter.

"Don't worry about it, Cas. Sammy's just being a bitch and teasing us," Dean told him after a few moments of the angel attempting to puzzle it out.

"Oh," he murmured, brow still wrinkled in confusion.

"So…" Dean said, and then stopped without saying anything further. Castiel watched him, waiting for him to elaborate on this opening statement. After a couple of minutes of awkward silence, Dean groaned. "Sit down, I feel weird with you standing there staring down at me," he commanded, grabbing the angel's sleeve and tugging him down.

Castiel frowned again, but did as Dean said, sitting on the bed next to him with a distasteful wrinkle of his nose as he caught wind of all the iniquitous behavior that had occurred in this room and left behind a rather pungent odor. Dean caught his face and laughed, ruffling his hair. The angel felt the warmth in his chest and tightness in the front of his pants return, along with the new flutter of his gut, as the hunter's fingers raked through his hair and lightly scraped his skull, making his hair even messier than usual. He barely caught Dean's explanation, he was so lost in the sensations.

"I know, not the best place—but we were tired and it was affordable." He shrugged, looking only slightly apologetic. Castiel nodded an acknowledgement and made a little "Hmm" sound, still slightly dazed by his reaction to Dean messing with his hair. They lapsed into a more comfortable silence this time, broken once again by Dean's voice.

"So, Cas…can I ask you something?" His voice was tentative.

"I believe you just did, Dean," he replied. Dean frowned.

"Can I ask you something else, then?"

"You just did," the angel responded again. Dean groaned, grabbing a pillow and smacking him in the face with it. Castiel jumped and blinked, startled.

"I'm serious, Cas, I have a question!" Dean said, looking slightly sour.

"Then ask it, Dean."

"Okay. So, I was wondering…do you, like, have wings?" he asked hesitantly. "Like actual flesh-and-blood, feathery wings?"

The seraph nodded. "I do. They don't manifest on this plane of existence, but my true form does indeed have wings, and they are generally out when I am in Heaven."

Dean looked confused. "Plane of existence? Huh?"

Castiel did his best to explain. "There is more than one level to reality, Dean, just as there are different dimensions. You exist on the most basic, most primordial and simple. As does my vessel, which is why my wings don't manifest in this form unless I intentionally will them to, and even then it can only be for a short amount of time, or they would burn through my vessel and destroy it as well as anyone who was too close. Not to mention it would greatly deplete my energy. Do you understand?"

"I…think so," he said slowly.

"Is there a particular reason you asked?" Castiel wondered curiously. He was surprised when Dean flushed and appeared embarrassed—it wasn't a very personal question, he didn't think it would cause embarrassment on the man's behalf.

"I was just…just kinda wondering. The first night I met you, you showed me a kind of form of your wings, so I-I was just kind of curious if you had actual wings…" The usually smooth and eloquent brother stammered and trailed off, glancing away.

Sam came out of the shower just then, and before Castiel could ask any further questions, Dean leapt up and rushed into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him, leaving a confused angel and brother in his wake.

"What was that about?" Sam asked with an arch of his eyebrows at the angel in question, who shrugged and looked just as lost.

"I am not sure. We were just talking," he stated, wondering what had caused Dean to grow suddenly uncomfortable.

"Okay, well…thanks again, Cas. For fixing Dean," Sam said, smiling as he started getting ready for bed.

"Of course." Castiel nodded.

"Are you…staying for the night?" the younger Winchester asked tentatively.

"Should I?" Castiel wondered. They had never asked him to stay—he had always left when they went to sleep, sometimes checking in on them during the night to ensure they were okay but always being careful not to wake them. And he would always return in the morning.

"I think Dean would like it if you did," Sam said with a smile. Castiel, naive as he was, missed the mischievous gleam in his eyes as he nodded.

"I will stay, then," he decided. "For Dean."

"Great. You should take off your shoes and coat—make yourself comfortable," Sam suggested with a grin.

"I am not discomforted by keeping on my coat and shoes," Cas replied, looking down at himself and shrugging.

"It's a thing humans do, Cas. It's more relaxing, trust me."

"Alright…" Cas did as Sam said, and found he was right. He was more comfortable this way, able to wiggle his toes and move his arms more freely. He smiled at the hunter, who was grinning.

"See, isn't that better?" Castiel nodded and Sam chuckled. "Dean should be done showering soon. Then we can discuss our next move."

Castiel simply nodded again, and settled back on Dean's bed to wait for his hunter.


	4. Stay The Night

**[A/N: All I really have to say is that this is immediately following the last chapter in the timeline, and the next chapter will be changing some things. I'll explain more when I put that chapter up.]**

**[Meanwhile, for this chapter expect some fluff and feels and some more intense stuff—Cas is going to be a bit of a badass and it'll be kind of hot. You'll see what I mean as the chapter progresses. It's mostly from Cas' perspective like usual, but there'll be a bit of insight into Dean's mind as well every now and then. I'm not really sure how that happened, tbh—this chapter kind of took on a life of its own as I wrote it. Hope you enjoy, heheheh :)]**

**[Big thanks to all my followers, and reviewers have my love and get cookies. **** But seriously, you guys are all awesome and I appreciate all the support I've gotten in any form, be it a review, a favorite, or a follower. Big hugs for everyone! –virtual hugs—]**

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Needless to say, when Dean finally came back out of the shower, he was unhappy with the arrangements. He didn't say anything, but Castiel knew from the glare he sent his brother's way that he was irritated. The angel frowned, because he didn't understand why the hunter was so upset—had he done something to earn the glare that those emerald eyes settled on him?

After a brief spat that Castiel didn't really listen to—he was too distracted observing Dean, watching the ripple of muscles as he gesticulated to emphasize his anger, scrutinizing his facial expressions and viewing every flash of his eyes—Dean grudgingly accepted that the angel was staying for the night and looked more calmly at Castiel.

"So are you sharing a bed, or what?" he asked. Castiel looked down at the bed he was still sitting on—Dean's bed—and then back at the hunter, shrugging.

"I do not require sleep unless I am extremely depleted of energy, but this bed is very comfortable and my vessel could use a chance to rest comfortably," he stated. Dean's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly—if Castiel hadn't been watching his face so closely, he would have missed the minute change in expression—before he sighed.

"Well, Sam's a restless sleeper, not to mention a Sasquatch, so I guess you're stuck sharing a bed with me." The hunter ran a hand through his hair, and Castiel watched with interest as the damp strands became messy and stuck up in a strange formation as a result. He absent-mindedly nodded his agreement to the sleeping arrangement.

"Just watch out, Cas—Dean is a cuddler," Sam told him with a wink. He smirked as his brother flushed and glared. Dean darted over to the bed where Castiel was still sitting, reaching past him—_He's so close,_ the angel thought, frozen, as Dean's chest pressed against his and their arms brushed—to snatch a pillow, which he promptly hurled at Sam's face. The younger Winchester ducked hastily, laughing and hurling a pillow back.

"It's true and you know it Dean!" he teased.

"At least I'm not a blanket hog!" Dean shot back, throwing another pillow. Soon, words and pillows were flying across the room, both brothers dodging and exchanging insults as they hurled the projectiles. Castiel was confused, unsure how this mini-war had started, and he hastily scrambled down from the bed to hide behind it, watching with wide eyes over the top. It wasn't long before he got caught in the cross-fire, and the seraph yelped as a pillow slammed into his face.

Dean laughed, no longer seeming angry, as he dodged another pillow hurled by his brother. "Come on, Cas, get in on the action!" he called. The angel picked up the pillow that had just attacked him and, after a brief hesitation, threw it at Dean. He watched, eyes widening even further, as it nailed him in the back of the head, which caused both brothers to freeze, the onslaught of pillows coming to an abrupt halt.

The angel shrank down again as Dean and Sam turned slowly to stare at him, sure he'd done something wrong and that they were angry.

"What the hell, Cas? You were supposed to be on my side!" Dean said after a long moment of silence. The angel was staring at the covers sheepishly, so he didn't see the teasing glint in the hunter's eyes, or the laugh he was trying to contain.

"I wasn't aware we were choosing sides," he murmured without daring to lift his eyes. "I thought we were just in war. Isn't there a human quote that goes, 'All is fair in love and war'?" Silence greeted this comment, and the angel tentatively peeked at Sam's expression, still not daring to look at Dean.

Sam had buried his face in the coverlet, and his shoulders were shaking silently. The angel felt his brows furrow in confusion, his eyes snapping to Dean when he began to laugh suddenly. What was so funny? Dean flopped onto his bed, laughing long and hard, and Castiel felt his lips begin to curl up in a tentative smile in response to the sound, warmth spreading through him to the tips of his fingers and toes, even though he still wasn't sure what Dean was laughing at. Sam joined in, and soon they were both howling.

"You…take…everything…so seriously," Dean finally gasped, chest heaving from laughing so hard, his face slightly flushed. Castiel found himself staring again, and he felt his own face flush slightly when Dean tipped his head to grin at him.

"We were just teasing, Cas," Sam panted, finally lifting his own head. "Relax, you didn't do anything wrong. It was just…unexpected." He chuckled again.

"I am not in trouble?" Castiel asked. He yelped when Dean's muscular arm suddenly locked around his neck in something like a chokehold, except that it did not restrict his breathing. The angel squirmed, pushing against Dean's arm, and he grimaced as he felt Dean's knuckles rubbing against his skull as the hunter laughed. The sensation was not painful, but it was uncomfortable.

"You're not in trouble, Cas," he said laughingly, noogieing his angel affectionately. "Relax and take a joke."

"Dean, let go!" the angel complained, squirming in his hold.

"Say uncle!" Dean demanded, smirking. He knew Cas could probably get free if he really wanted to, but he was having fun teasing the little nerd. Castiel did not understand the strange request, and he did not comply, shoving against Dean's chest and writhing in his grip.

"Let go!" he insisted. His heart was pounding uncomfortably, and the front of his slacks were uncomfortably tight now, not to mention he could feel his face growing bright red and his gut was twisting and fluttering as though a flock of birds had been set loose there.

"Say uncle and I'll let go!"

"Cas, just say uncle. It's a thing humans do—the stronger ones will pick on the smaller and torment them, and saying uncle means you admit that they're stronger and you give in," Sam interjected, trying to explain to the poor angel what his brother was doing. Castiel frowned. It didn't usually bother him, letting Dean assert his dominance—in fact he found it amusing, even slightly endearing, considering he could crush the man like a bug if he wanted to. So normally he would let him get away with this sort of thing, but he didn't want to give in this time. It suddenly seemed very important that they understood that he was an Angel of the Lord, not a small human that they could push around and pick on.

"Dean, _let_ _go,_" he said, his jaw clenching. He was not giving in, not this time.

"Not until you say uncle!" Dean insisted, no longer noogieing him but still holding him tightly in a chokehold, being careful not to squeeze too much because he really didn't want to hurt Cas—

Dean suddenly found himself being thrown down, causing him to gasp as he was slammed down on the bed. He looked up at the angel pinning him down with wide eyes, slightly alarmed by the intense look in those startlingly blue eyes. Had he pushed the angel too far? Shit, he was in trouble. He squirmed but Cas was holding him by the wrists, glaring down at him, his lower body pinned down by Cas'. Shit shit shit, he was getting hard and this needed to stop soon or things would be real awkward real fast…

Castiel glared down at the hunter, pinning him down by the wrists. It was time these hunters showed him proper respect. Dean looked up at him with wide eyes, alarmed. Castiel could sense his heart pounding—was he afraid?—and he had to force himself to focus, to not get distracted by Dean's body pressed against his, or by the strange urges he was feeling as a result. He spoke in a low voice to Dean.

"I am an angel of the lord—I am _not_ a human you can bully and push around, Dean Winchester." Castiel's voice was almost a growl—he hadn't intended that. Why was he growling? He wasn't that angry yet. He wasn't fully in control—he was being irrational. He felt a fire burning inside him, something beyond the anger he felt, something that was deeper and stronger and threatening to consume him, and the look in Dean's eyes and the feel of his body against his was just fuel for the fire.

"Cas—Cas, take it easy!"

Sam's alarmed voice shattered the heat and snapped Castiel out of his thoughts. He abruptly released his hold on Dean, sitting back on the bed, looking dazed as he frowned. He felt cold all over, although it was actually quite warm in the room. Was he shaking? He looked down at his hands and yes, there was a slight tremor there. What was wrong with him? Was he ill?

Dean didn't move—he was still staring at Castiel with wide eyes, though he didn't look as alarmed now that the angel was no longer invading his personal space. He was breathing heavily.

"Cas…? I'm sorry…" he said in a tentative voice, clearly not wanting to anger the seraph again. The angel shook his head tiredly.

"No, Dean, I apologize. I should not have reacted so strongly—I experienced…a momentary loss of control. I am sorry," he said, ashamed. He looked away, unable to meet those eyes any longer. A hand touched his shoulder lightly—Dean's hand. He was attempting to comfort the angel.

"Cas, buddy, it's okay. It's normal—"

"No, it's not," he interrupted, though he didn't move away from the warm hand on his shoulder. "Not for me," he added, closing his eyes.

"It's okay, Cas. I'm not hurt."

"You forgive me, then?" He opened his eyes, and there was an almost pleading look in their azure depths as he met the familiar emerald gaze once more. Dean looked kind and warm, squeezing Castiel's shoulder gently.

"There's nothing to forgive. But if it gives you peace of mind," he added, seeing Castiel's mouth open to protest, "then yes, I forgive you." The angel smiled, relieved, and the cold feeling left him.

"Well, now that the chick flick moment is over, can we get some sleep?" Sam interjected sarcastically, punctuating his question with a yawn. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, sleep is a good idea. We'll look for a case in the morning." He settled on the bed, closing his eyes, and Sam flipped off the lights before doing the same. He seemed to fall asleep instantly, if the snoring was any indication. Castiel sat awkwardly, unsure what to do with himself. He had never shared a bed before.

"Cas, don't over-think it," Dean told him gruffly, causing the angel to jump—he had assumed the hunter was already asleep. "Just lie down and get comfortable. Oh, and take your tie off—people don't sleep with ties."

Castiel undid his tie, tossing it towards where he was fairly certain his coat and shoes were on the floor. Then he cautiously laid down on the bed, being careful not to get too close to Dean. He jumped again when Dean shifted, and heard the hunter chuckle sleepily.

"Relax—I'm just trying to share the blanket." He lifted it up, placing it over the angel and himself.

"Thank you, Dean," he murmured, relaxing as he was enveloped in warmth from both the blanket and Dean's body. His heart began to thump slightly and the fluttery feeling returned. Was his face warm? It was. He was grateful for the darkness that concealed the blush on his cheeks. Why was he blushing? What a strange, puzzling thing the human body was!

"Don't mention it. See ya in the morning, Cas," Dean murmured. Seconds later, his breathing deepened, and he was asleep.

Castiel was still wide awake. This was a new experience for him. The bed was lumpy and not entirely comfortable, so every few seconds he and Dean would shift, and their knees would bump or their feet brush together. Each time, a shiver would trace down Castiel's spine and he would shy away, not wanting to intrude on Dean's personal space again.

Each time Dean exhaled, his warm breath would brush across the angel's face. It smelled of a strange combination of beer and peppermint toothpaste. It was not an entirely pleasant combination, but Castiel didn't really mind.

Going to sleep was hard. He had done it once or twice, and it was a disorienting experience. The vivid hallucinations—dreams—were startling and unsettling to the angel. Dean had regularly featured in his dreams, in some rather odd ways that caused the blush to once again creep up Castiel's cheeks as he recalled.

Time ticked by slowly, and gradually Castiel's eyelids grew heavy as he listened to the rhythmic breathing of Dean beside him. He allowed them to drift shut, curling up slightly as sleep overcame him, feeling secure with his hunter safe beside him. The angel relaxed, drifting into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>"<em>Cas!" Dean gasped, looking up at him with startled eyes.<em>

"_Dean? Did I do something wrong?" the angel inquired, looking back with curious azure eyes. He was sitting on the hunter's hips, and Dean was bare-chested, his hands on Castiel's waist. His nails dug slightly into Castiel's skin. He shook his head._

"_Not wrong, angel," he murmured with a shy grin. "Very, very right. I didn't know you had it in you!" he chuckled. Castiel smiled proudly and leaned down once more over his hunter, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He loved how soft and warm Dean's lips were against his—the rest of him was so hard and tense, muscle-y and callused and rough, but his lips were soft as silk. _

_Dean didn't let it stay gentle for long. He parted his lips, and his tongue flickered out, licking at the angel's lips. Castiel parted his own lips, and Dean's tongue slipped into his mouth. He tightened his hands on Castiel's waist again with a possessive little growl, drawing the angel close. The seraph pressed close against the hunter, chest-to-chest, until he could feel Dean's heart hammering alongside his own. He groaned softly, and Dean chuckled, trailing kisses along his throat and jaw, his teeth gently sinking into Castiel's skin and causing him to gasp Dean's name._

_Dean chuckled again, and his hands slid lower—_

* * *

><p>"Cas!"<p>

Castiel sat up suddenly when someone—not Dean—yelled his name, his eyes wide, disoriented. He was just with Dean…but the bed was empty. And he was fully clothed in his suit…what?

It took the angel a few seconds to understand that it was a dream. Then it took another few seconds to remember where he was. He thought back to last night.

Healing Dean. Discussing wings. Pillow war. Slight fight. Loss of control. Forgiveness. Staying for the night. Sharing a bed with Dean.

Right.

He looked up at Sam, who was watching him with some amusement. "Morning, Cas. Dean is out getting breakfast—although you two were awful snuggly when I woke up." Sam snickered, and Castiel flushed.

"We were?"

"Oh, yeah, you were all cuddled up like two little puppies. He had his arms around you and you were curled against him—it was pretty dang cute," he said with a grin. Castiel felt his cheeks flush and was sure his face was bright red. He glanced down at his hands folded in his lap, unsure why he was so embarrassed. They were quiet for the next few minutes, and Castiel's face gradually returned to its usual color.

When Sam next spoke, he sounded serious. "Cas, can I ask you something?" he asked in a tentative voice. "It's about Dean," he added. Castiel glanced up to meet Sam's hazel eyes with his own curious gaze at the mention of the absent hunter's name, wondering what this was about. He nodded his assent for Sam to continue.

"Do you…do you like him?"

The angel felt his eyebrows furrow as he nodded. "Of course I like him. I have grown fond of both you and your brother, Sam. I care a great deal for the two of you."

Sam looked slightly frustrated by his response, and Castiel couldn't help feeling as though he was missing something, although he wasn't sure what. "No, Cas, that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?" Castiel felt his head tilt as the familiar sense of confusion reared up. Sam sighed and mumbled something under his breath. The seraph caught the words 'sex talk' and 'why me' and felt his eyebrows arch. "What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing. What I meant was…do you…are you in love? With Dean?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably.

Castiel frowned, considering the question. Is that what these strange feelings were? "I…I am not sure," he murmured. "I do not know what love feels like, besides the familial love I have for my brothers. I have never been in love, so I do not know how to answer the question."

Sam nodded, looking thoughtful. "Okay…let's try something else. What do you feel about Dean?"

"A lot of things," Castiel replied, thinking of how the elder hunter could make him feel angry and sad and confused and happy and worried all at once, and how it would all meld into this confused tangle of messy emotions that he didn't know what to do or how to deal with.

"Try to name a few," Sam said, starting to sound exasperated.

"Um…well, when he touches me—when he messes with my hair or something like that—I feel really warm right here—" He tapped his chest lightly. "—and I get a feeling like I'm going to be sick, although I do not believe that I am ill, and my slacks sometimes become tight—" He was interrupted by Sam's laughter. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," the younger hunter chortled, "don't worry about it. Continue."

The angel frowned, puzzled by this strange reaction, but he went on attempting to explain his feelings about the hunter. "I worry about him a lot, even though I know he is strong and smart, I worry his arrogance will get him hurt or worse. I feel content, happy even, when he relaxes enough to laugh and smile. And he unsettles me, because he seems able to—what is that phrase—'get under my skin' and cause reactions in a way no one else ever has before."

"What kinds of reactions?" Sam asked curiously.

"Anger is the most common. But there's also sadness, confusion, happiness…" Castiel trailed off with a shrug, and Sam grinned. "Why are you asking me these things, Sam?"

"I'm just trying to figure out what's going on between you and my brother. I think you're in love with him, Cas."

"And…what does Dean feel?" the angel asked tentatively, not entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Sam smiled kindly and opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment the door swung open.

"Hey guys! I got donuts and coffee, eat up," Dean announced as he strolled in. He had already had several coffees from the look of him—his eyes were feverishly bright, and he was hyper and twitchy, more so than Castiel had ever seen him.

"We'll talk some more later, Cas," Sam said with a smile, standing and stretching. He went to grab nourishment from Dean, who sat in a chair by the small table near the window. They began to discuss hunting things—Dean had apparently found a case for them nearby while he was out, and they were going to head out right after breakfast.

Castiel watched them, and he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that their discussion had been interrupted. He wondered if his questions would ever be answered.

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><p><strong>[AN: Castiel, you naught boy you!]**

**[Alright, thoughts? Any requests or ideas? Let me know! :)]**

**-Makky**


	5. The Hunt: Part I

**[A/N: FINALLY! This chapter, man, I don't even know...I didn't think it would take this long to get up...sorry for the wait, guys! :( Anyways, big thanks to my girlfriend, Nona, and to Ivan Alvarado, for their comments and support. I love you guys, this super-long chapter is dedicated to you two with my love and gratitude—never change, guys! :)]**

**[So things are kind of shifting around now, and I gotta say that writing this one out frustrated a lot more than I expected it to. But alas, such are the woes of fangirls and writers. –dramatic sigh— This chapter will have a hunt in it, but the canonical timeline is a bit screwy so I'm changing it that this is about a year after the last chapter, and it's after the seals have been broken, Lucifer has risen, and all that yucky stuff. The hunt in this chapter is basically "My Bloody Valentine", you know, the one with Famine? Because I freaking loved that episode and I like the concept. It won't be exactly the same though, since I'm too lazy to take the exact same dialogue again and I'm making it up. I guess that makes it slightly AU? You know what, fuck it, from this chapter on this story is basically like...like canon AU, coinciding with canonical events but with my own spin on them. Capiche, ya feel me? Good.]**

**[I'll be following the same basic plot as the afore-mentioned episode—Sam will still have his demon blood-addiction issue, Cas with the red meat, Dean with the not really feeling it thing—but there'll be small changes too. Main thing I'm changing is that it's about a year after "Lazarus Rising", so this chapter will be a few months after the last one. Oh, and I'm also having it so that Cas goes on hunts with them regularly, he basically spends all his time with them.]**

**[Okay, last note and then I swear I'm done—the length of this chapter will hopefully make up for my excessively long Author's Note. This chapter will have a couple of flashbacks. The parts in italics will be things that Castiel is looking back at, and normal font is in the present. I just thought it might be interesting to incorporate. And last but not least, I had to split this chapter into two parts (could turn into three depending on how the next chapter goes) and am working on the second probably as you're reading this.]**

**[Alright, I think that's all. On with the show, kiddos! :)]**

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

_**Part 1**_

Unfortunately for Castiel, that talk never happened. Days turned into weeks, which soon became months, and before long, a year had passed.

There never seemed to be an appropriate time for the promised talk, so Castiel was left dissatisfied, his questions unanswered. He tried more than once to get Sam alone so they could speak, but the younger hunter was always too busy researching, or too tired after a long hunt, or they were unable to find an excuse to get away from Dean, who didn't want to let either of them out of his sight for longer than was necessary.

Dean.

Castiel sighed, thinking of his hunter. He was sure now that Sam was right regarding his feelings for Dean. The seraph was in love with the human he had raised from Hell. But what did Dean feel? It was all very confusing, because Castiel would get mixed messages from Dean. Sometimes he would laugh and hug the angel, and Castiel would be sure Dean felt the same…

* * *

><p><em>Dean was drunk. Celebrating, he said, because of a successful hunt. But Castiel knew Dean well enough now that he knew the hunter did not need an excuse to become intoxicated. He did not like it, because Dean acted strange when he was like this. But at least this time he had not vanished with a random girl, unlike Sam, who had left with his arm around a petite brunette, laughing loudly as they staggered from the bar. Castiel worried briefly that Sam might find trouble, but he was a hunter. He could surely take care of himself for a night, even inebriated as he was.<em>

"_Caaaassssss," Dean slurred, drawing the angel's attention away from the younger Winchester as he refocused on the elder._

"_Yes, Dean?" He arched an enquiring eyebrow, his head tilting curiously as Dean staggered towards the bed._

"_I'm boooooorrrrreeeeeed," he whined as he flopped ungracefully on the mattress. The angel watched in fascination as he bounced slightly, distracted by the involuntary movement of his muscles. The longer the seraph spent with the hunter, the more easily he became distracted. He blinked as those unfocused emerald eyes met his, the usual gleam dulled by alchol._

"_I'm sorry you're bored, Dean," he murmured. He sat on the bed by Dean, pulling his shoes and coat off. They had grown used to this, Castiel often staying the night when Dean got drunk._

"_Are you stripping for me?" Dean teased. The angel tensed up as his face flushed bright red, suddenly unable to meet Dean's eyes. Did he know? Had Castiel somehow inadvertently revealed his feelings? The sudden, horrible churning of anxiety made it hard to think clearly, and he stumbled over his words almost as badly as Dean._

"_I'm not—I don't—I wasn't—Dean, I swear, I don't—" His anxious stammering was interrupted by the drunken peal of laughter from the intoxicated man beside him, which was a relief because the panic swirling through his gut making him feel sick and afraid made it rather impossible to form a coherent thought, let alone voice it._

"_Relax, Cas, I'm joking. Don't take everything so serious," Dean told him with a crooked grin that made the angel's heart stutter in his chest as he relaxed. The hunter ruffled his hair playfully with a chuckle, which caused the angel to flush again, but he was now able to smile and laugh with Dean. He helped Dean get his shoes off, and after a few minutes Dean was passed out, snoring loudly with an arm carelessly slung around the angel beside him._

_Castiel kept an eye on Dean as he slept, a fond smile curling his lips as he recalled the laughter Dean had let loose so freely, in a way he almost never did. A warm feeling settled inside him, and he snuggled closer into Dean's embrace._

_Maybe Dean being drunk wasn't so bad after all, Castiel decided._

* * *

><p>And at these times, he would feel the words rise to his lips, so close to escaping, only to be quelled by his uncertainty as he recalled the other times, the times when Dean would snarl at him and yell at him to get away, to leave and never come back…<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>You stupid angel!" Dean almost screamed, red-faced with anger, his hands curling into tightly clenched fists at his sides. "What good is it, having you around, if you can't even keep my brother safe?" <em>

_Dean flung an angry hand at Sam's unconscious form lying between them. The demons had been strong—they had been momentarily overwhelmed, and Sam had gotten hurt. Castiel had healed him as soon as the last of the demons were dispersed, but the damage was done. Possibly irreparably, if the look on Dean's face was any indication. The anger in those brilliant, gleaming eyes he had come to love cut viciously at Castiel—he had failed Sam, and in doing so had failed Dean. That hurt, but the betrayal and accusation in Dean's expression stung even worse._

"_Dean—I—" He faltered, unsure what he could say, unsure how he could make this okay. Sam was the most important thing in the world to Dean, Castiel knew. Dean glared at him, kneeling to hug his brother protectively. Sam was breathing, the seraph noted with relief. That meant he would be okay…but would Dean trust him again after this? Could he?_

"_Go," Dean said quietly. The angel didn't move, didn't want to leave like this. "We don't need you," and now the soft tone did nothing to mask the anger in his voice, as his arms curled protectively around the younger man. "Just GO! Get away, get away from us—it was your stupid brother that caused this! If it weren't for you stupid angels, Sammy would be fine!" Dean's voice rose until he was on the verge of screaming again._

_And there was no denying it. Dean was right—Castiel's brother, Lucifer, had caused this harm to befall Sam. His rising had unleashed thousands of demons from Hell to roam the earth. His brother was the catalyst of Dean's current suffering._

_The angel looked down in shame, and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "…I will go then," he said softly. And with a rustle of wings, he was gone._

* * *

><p>Sam had called him back shortly after that incident, of course, after yelling at Dean for being so cruel. Dean had reluctantly apologized, Sam had thanked Cas for healing him, and the brothers soon forgot the incident. It remained with Castiel, though, as the poor angel tried to sort through these jumbled messages from Dean, attempting to figure out the nature of the hunter's emotions towards the angel. His efforts were fruitless, however, and he was more confused the more he thought about it.<p>

Castiel began to wonder if he would ever understand these humans. He was seriously beginning to doubt it.

* * *

><p>They sent him away after that. Sam suggested—with a glare directed at his brother, who was glaring at the wall ignoring both of them—that Castiel go off on his own for a bit, take a break from the hunting. He pressed a small device—a cellular phone—into the angel's hand, promising to call if they needed his help.<p>

Castiel was unhappy with this arrangement, and Sam could clearly tell. He smiled reassuringly.

"Relax, Cas. We're just going to look into a case nearby. Strange deaths, probably just a ghost or demon possession. Nothing we can't handle," he insisted, smiling kindly.

"We'll take care of it," Dean interjected, still refusing to look at Castiel. His jaw was tight—was Dean still angry with him? "Just get your feathery ass out of here," he continued, "take a break for a few days. We don't need you hovering over us all the time like some angelic nanny." He rolled his eyes, taking a swig of his beer. All of this directed at the angel without once actually looking at or acknowledging him.

Castiel frowned. He didn't like spending time away from his hunters, either of them—every moment separate was another moment he was worrying about them. But if they needed space, and the look on Dean's face very strongly suggested that that was exactly what they required, then he didn't want to intrude. Besides, they were right—they had gotten along fine for on hunts years without his assistance, they hardly needed him.

So with great reluctance, the angel tucked the phone in his pocket, and with a flutter of his wings he left the brothers on their own.

* * *

><p>He decided to visit a beach. He enjoyed nature, enjoyed taking the opportunity to take time to appreciate the simple beauty of his Father's creations. So he strolled along a craggy shore, unable to enjoy the aesthetical pleasure the beach had to offer because he was too busy anxiously checking the phone in his pocket every time he thought he felt it buzz.<p>

_No new messages,_ the display screen told him each time. He would sigh and shove it back in his pocket, continuing to walk along the edge of the water with his thoughts free to wander—careful to never let them stray to a certain human—only to repeat the process again a few minutes later.

After roughly an hour of this torturous isolation, Castiel sensed an angelic presence. He turned and found himself faced with the true form of his brother Michael.

To see the true form of an angel from a vessel's eyes was a disorienting experience, so for the first several seconds Castiel stared with his jaw dropped, eyes wide. It was so _bright, _like staring into the sun at high noon. It caused Castiel no pain, but were he human he would be blinded. The Grace of his brother was a beauteous thing to behold, and the lovely shore around him paled in comparison. Castiel felt his own Grace respond eagerly, reaching for his brother, and was enveloped in the familiar glow of love as they embraced. The seraph smiled at the archangel, and felt a warm glow of happiness in return.

"I take it you wished to speak to me, brother?" Castiel said, still smiling.

"_Indeed," _Michael responded—not quite a physical sound, the words resonating through their Grace to form meaning in Castiel's mind, rather than in soundwaves that would penetrate his vessel's ears, in what the humans would call telepathy. It was a crude description, not capturing the intimacy and beauty of this melding of minds that allowed such a pure communication, but it was as close as they could come to comprehension.

"What is on your mind?" the seraph inquired, tilting his head.

"_I am worried, brother," _the archangel responded. Castiel felt his forehead crease in confusion, but Michael was elaborating before he could ask. He tensed as his brother continued speaking, his smile melting as a wary, guarded expression fell on his face. _"You have grown far too fond of these humans. I know you share a profound bond with my intended vessel, but Castiel, you are allowing them to change you and affect you in ways that are highly inappropriate. You are too close to both Winchesters—it is impairing your judgment."_

"I do not know what you mean, Michael," Castiel replied coolly. "I am simply doing my best to complete the mission." He hoped that Michael wouldn't notice—or perhaps not understand the meaning behind—the rigidity of his shoulders or the racing of his heart. They couldn't take him away…not now, not after everything he'd been through…not after he'd fallen in love. He kept his face impassive, trying to contain his emotions, but he could sense Michael's irritation and he knew that something must have slipped through the cracks of his impartial mask.

"_You care too much. That was always your problem, Castiel," _he said sternly. _"We are not pulling you away—yet," _he added as he noticed the instant release of tension from Castiel's body as he relaxed in relief, _"but we will be keeping a close eye on you from now on. And if you should exhibit any more unsuitable emotions towards the humans in your charge, we will have no choice but to pull you back to Heaven and send a better-equipped angel to take your place."_

Castiel scowled, but quickly wiped the expression away. If he wanted to stay on earth, stay with the Winchesters, then he had to convince Michael that he didn't care as much as he really did. He had to cover up the cracks in his façade and control himself.

"I understand, brother," he murmured, bowing his head so that the archangel would not see the anger he felt smoldering in his eyes.

"_Take care, brother. I would hate to see you get hurt." _And with a mesmerizing swirl of Grace, his brother was gone, returned home to Heaven, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts and writhing emotions.

Moments after he left, however, there was a shrill ring that grated on the seraph's frayed nerves and caused him to jump. He relaxed again when he realized it was the phone Sam had given in, relief pouring through him as he dug the small device out, pressing it to his ear. The phone just continued to buzz.

It took him a few moments, staring as it in bewilderment as Dean's name flashed on the small screen and it continued to buzz shrilly, before he realized he had to press the answer button. He did so, pressing it once more to the side of his face. He was greeted by silence on the other line, which confused him until he remembered that humans offered greetings when they answered a phone call.

"Hello?" he said, and immediately on the other end he heard the familiar voice he had been longing for all afternoon.

"Cas! Listen, there's some freaky shit going on here and we need your help," Dean said. He sounded mildly distressed and slightly irritated, but it hardly mattered because he had called Castiel. Warmth coursed through him—they needed his help. Dean needed his help, was asking him to come. He felt a smile tugging up his lips and he was already reaching out, searching for them, as Dean continued, "We're at room 31C basement level, it's the morgue in the next town over from where you left us—"

There they were. Once he had a lock on their location, he transported there. "I'm here, Dean," he announced, staring into the hunter's eyes, standing startlingly close. He felt strange as soon as he landed, like something was off with his body, but he attributed it to the fact that Dean was staring back at him and thought nothing more of the strange tightness in his stomach; he wasn't moving, and the angel felt his heart begin to pick up tempo as they just stared at each other for several long moments before breaking eye contact.

"I see that," he said. His resigned voice echoed slightly into the phone still pressed to Castiel's ear.

"I'm going to hang up now," he said before doing just that, Dean copying his movement and tucking his phone in his pocket. It was then that Castiel noticed Sam, who was sitting at a table with a bunch of plastic containers watching them with some amusement. He nodded a greeting and attempted to return Sam's phone, but Sam just shook his head and grinned.

"Keep it," he insisted. "It's convenient."

The angel frowned, reluctantly tucking the phone in his pocket as he glanced back at Dean. "Why did you call me here?" he inquired. The older hunter was still refusing to look at him again, which frustrated the angel. He loved looking into Dean's eyes and seeing the light shift and fracture and dance in their emerald depths—

Sam cleared his throat, regaining Castiel's attention. He beckoned with a gloved, bloody hand. Castiel frowned, walking over obediently.

"So, there have been these strange deaths in the area—people who are in love or in lust or whatever doing homicides or double-suicides," Sam explained, reaching for a pair of Tupperware in front of him and shifting them in front of Castiel, who peered at the contents curiously.

Hearts. A human heart in each container. He looked at Sam questioningly, gazing into the sober hazel eyes as Sam continued, "These are the hearts of the most recent victims. They were going out, and they were…ah…going at it…" He shifted awkwardly.

"They were about to have sex," Dean interjected at Castiel's confused look, rolling his eyes at his younger brother, who made what Dean referred to as his 'bitchface' in response.

"I see," the angel nodded. "Continue."

"So anyways, they were going at it, and then they just start _eating_ each other. Literally tearing off chunks of each other's flesh and swallowing, while making out with each other. And they just kept _going, _eating and…ah…other things…until they were both dead on the floor all wrapped around each other covered in each other's blood," Sam concluded with a cringe.

"Alright…so where do I come in?" Castiel asked slowly, wincing slightly at the gruesome mental image Sam's story had conjured.

"Well, we were examining the hearts, and…well, see for yourself," Sam muttered. He pulled up a magnifying glass thingy and trained it over the first heart. Castiel leaned forward curiously over Sam's shoulder to inspect the heart. He frowned—he recognized the mark on the heart. It was an Enochian symbol, one the cherubs would leave when they had marked one human as intended for another.

"Show me the other," he murmured, feeling his forehead crease. Sam complied, shifting the magnifying glass over the second heart. Castiel had to lean even further forward, pressing against Sam's back this time so he could see. He nodded to himself—there was the matching mark. He had just opened his mouth to explain what the marks meant when he heard a pained sort of grunt.

The angel glanced up at Dean questioningly, to find the hunter's eyes narrowed in apparent anger. Castiel was mystified—what had he done now to cause Dean's fists to clench so tightly at his sides, his jaw straining with the force he was clenching it? Dean was just staring at him, and it took the seraph a moment to realize he was practically draped over Sam as he inspected the hearts. He straightened up, unsure why Dean was so upset, but Dean calmed slightly once the angel was no longer so close to his brother, so he shrugged it off for now. Sam gave them both a questioning arch of the eyebrow, but Dean had once again glanced away, and Castiel couldn't explain since he didn't know himself. He shrugged helplessly.

"So…the marks?" Sam prompted after a moment, sounding resigned.

Castiel cleared his throat and nodded. "They are angelic runes, Enochian symbols used by a lower class of angels called cherubs—I believe you humans refer to them as 'cupids'—to mark humans intended for each other. This brand—" He touched the heart lightly, feeling sorrow for these people who should have been in love and had instead suffered a gruesome death. "—means that they were intended to be together. I think," he added hesitantly, unsure of his theory but feeling he may as well offer it since the brothers were clearly stumped, "I think we might have a rogue cherub on our hands."

The brothers stared at him incredulously. "You mean to tell me that we have a diaper-man with love arrows going around making people go crazy with the lovebug?" Dean said, obviously not buying it.

Castiel frowned. "They are not incontinent, and it is a bit more complicated than that…but yes." He nodded.

"Great." Sam sighed. "So…how do we catch a cherub?"

Emerald and hazel eyes met his expectantly. They wanted him to lead the way on this. He felt a warmth sweep through him, followed swiftly by doubt and uncertainty he tried not to show as he swallowed, tilting his head thoughtfully as he attempted to formulate a plan.

"We would have to go to their preferred hunting ground," he finally concluded. Both brothers frowned at him in puzzlement, their faces almost comically similar expressions of confusion. The angel felt his lips tilt up slightly as he added, "Someplace with lots of potential couples to mark."

Sam's face cleared as he chuckled. "Oh. That's easy. We'll hit up a diner or something, it's just about dinner time anyways."

"Well it's a plan, then," Dean said. He grinned, but there was something off—he didn't look very enthusiastic. Just the opposite, in fact. Castiel stared at him, scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes, but he couldn't discern what was wrong, just that Dean seemed…off, somehow, like he was hiding something. Castiel glanced questioningly at Sam, who shrugged helplessly and shook his head. Castiel frowned, but Dean was speaking, drawing his attention once more.

"Let's go." He was already walking for the door without sparing another glance for either of them. The younger hunter and the angel exchanged a look, unable to find words, before following after him.

* * *

><p>The bar was noisy, unpleasantly so. It was full of incessant chatter and low music and Castiel found the atmosphere unpleasantly stifling, almost claustrophobic. Then again, that could have as much to do with him being pressed against the wall of the booth, unable to move away because Sam was right next to him.<p>

Dean was across from them, not really listening and refusing to take part in their conversation as he and Sam discussed cherubs. Castiel told Sam everything he wanted to know about his lower-class brothers, but he kept glancing at Dean, who was staring down at his burger broodingly without eating it.

For some reason, the food drew the angel's gaze almost as much as Dean. He felt a strange, hollow tightness in his gut that he tried to ignore, attributing it to the strange way he always felt around Dean Winchester. But when a strange rumbling, gurgling sound issued loudly from his stomach, both brothers stared at him in shock and confusion, causing him to shrink down slightly in embarrassment.

"Cas? Are you…um, are you hungry?" Sam asked hesitantly, his hazel eyes looking warm and slightly amused.

The angel stared at him quizzically, aware that his cheeks were warm and probably bright red. "My Grace sustains my vessel in such a way that sustenance such as food and water, while pleasant to consume, are not necessary," he stated.

"Okay, well your stomach is growling," Sam replied, almost smirking now. "That usually indicates hunger. Do you want me to order you a burger or something?"

"Don't bother—he can have mine," Dean muttered, pushing his plate across to Castiel. The smell of the food, rich and greasy and probably awful for him, assaulted the angel's senses and he found himself salivating—this had never happened to him before. He wasn't used to hunger or salivation. Why was his body acting so strangely? Even more strangely than it usually did around his hunter, anyways.

Sam and Castiel both stared at Dean. "What?" he snapped, shifting uncomfortably.

"You're not hungry?" Sam asked skeptically. Dean shook his head, shrugging and glaring at the wall. Sam looked worriedly at his brother.

Castiel was a bit distracted—he was practically inhaling the burger, closing his eyes as the taste washed over his taste buds, almost as heady as the aroma. Despite never having eaten red meat before, this felt familiar to Castiel. He searched his head a bit as he devoured his food, and realized it came from the vessel—from Jimmy Novak—rather than himself. Jimmy was rather fond of red meat, and so his body was experiencing a strange craving, a _need_ for it.

"Good burger, Cas?" Sam asked him suddenly, looking amused. The angel suddenly realized that he had food all over his face, and set the burger down, embarrassed, to grab a napkin and clean his face off. Even Dean was watching him now, entertained as always by his lack of basic human skills like how to eat properly. The warm, amused glint in his eyes gave the seraph the familiar warm, fluttery feeling, and he suddenly felt much less embarrassed. In fact he felt a sheepish grin tugging up the corners of his lips, staring into Dean's eyes. The hunter blinked, and it was like a wall slammed down: the warm, fond look in his eyes was replaced by cool, distant blankness. He looked away again

The abrupt change unnerved Castiel, left him with a strange aching feeling in his chest. He knew it was emotional, but the sensation was so strong that it almost felt tangible, physical. He fought the urge to check if he had somehow acquired a wound there, but dismissed the idea because he knew he hadn't been injured. It was just his body acting strange in reaction to Dean once more.

Castiel cleared his throat and opened his mouth to assure Sam that he was enjoying himself, but he grew distracted once he sensed an angel's Grace nearby. He tensed up, eyes flitting around the room—

There! By that couple plastered all over each other in the corner. The cherub was in his pure form—much less potent than any archangel or seraph, almost unnoticeable unless you were looking for it, like a wisp of wind—hovering by the couple. He soon sensed Castiel watching him, though, for their Graces brushed together. The seraph assured the cherub he meant no harm, asking if they could meet outside. The cherub sent a warm rush of love and kindness and agreed, vanishing with a swirl of air like a strong breeze and waiting out back.

Castiel turned back to the brothers, who were watching him with identical expressions of mixed confusion and wariness. "Meet me out back," he told them, and went to greet his brother.

"Brother!" the cherub cried, assaulting him with a hug as soon as he was out the back door. He had taken on physical form so that the Winchesters would be able to sense him as well, so the seraph found himself enveloped in a naked man's arms. He stiffened—he knew that for the cherubs, this was like a handshake, but it still made him uncomfortable. Other angels did not show affection like this—a casual brush of wings or a stroke of hair was more common if they chose to physically show affection, but they usually stuck with words to express their fondness. The only people who hugged him were the Winchesters, and they were nowhere near this exuberant.

He was relieved when the door opened behind him, his brother releasing him to give the hunters equally enthusiastic greetings. Dean yelped in alarm and struggled wildly, giving Castiel a desperate look. He shrugged helplessly, slightly amused by Dean's discomfort. As soon as the cherub released him, he ducked around him and rushed to Cas, standing slightly behind him—almost like he was hiding. Castiel suppressed a snicker as Sam received his bear hug. He was calmer, settling for a bemused look and a tentative pat of the cherub's head. The cherub looked positively gleeful at the affectionate gesture and hugged him even tighter, babbling at him about how much he loved love. Poor Sam looked so lost and helpless.

"What the hell was that?" Dean whispered, still looking unnerved.

"That was their greeting—it is like a handshake for them," Castiel murmured. Dean shot him an incredulous look, shuddering slightly.

"I don't like it!"

"No one likes it." While it was true that it made him uncomfortable, it was not bothering him nearly as much as it was Dean. The hunter noticed his amusement and narrowed his eyes at him.

"What's so funny?" he asked, glaring at Castiel.

"Your discomfort with open displays of affection is entertaining," Castiel told him, no longer bothering to hide his laughter and chuckling lightly. Dean shoved him, scowling, his face lightly flushed.

"Excuse me for not enjoying hugs from naked men I don't know!" The hunter cringed again, something like revulsion on his face. The angel pondered for a moment on his words, wondering which part bothered him the most: the fact that it was a man, a naked man, or a stranger.

He didn't think it was the fact that the cherub was male, because Dean hugged him and Sam all the time, not to mention Bobby. And Castiel knew that Dean wasn't shy about sexuality or nudity—although he mostly looked at naked women, so perhaps the male anatomy made him uncomfortable. But Castiel thought the biggest thing was that Dean didn't know this man. The hunter was slow to trust and even slower to show affection, so having a complete stranger hug him and talk about love was bound to unnerve him.

Castiel was brought out of his internal dialogue as the angel finally released Sam to turn, beaming, to him. Dean shrank further behind him, hiding from the cherub. Castiel could sense him peering over his shoulder warily, felt Dean's warm breath brushing against his ear every few seconds as he exhaled, and he fought a shiver. He forced himself to focus on his brother as he spoke, his heart pounding rapidly and his stomach curling uneasily.

"So, brother, what can I do for you?" he asked jovially. Castiel sobered quickly, recalling the reason for seeking out his brother. He gravely recounted the tale of the hearts and the people who had killed each other, watching the cherub's face carefully for any sign of deception. All he saw was shock and sadness. But the seraph knew how easy it was to deceive with facial expressions—the Winchesters practically made a living out of it. His eyes narrowed.

"How do we know we can trust this guy?" Dean demanded, his thoughts clearly echoing Castiel's. Sam frowned at them—he seemed to believe that the cherub was innocent—but before either he or Castiel could respond the cherub interrupted, looking pleadingly at Castiel with large brown eyes that tugged at his heart.

"Please, brother, read my mind—then you'll know I'm telling the truth!" he said desperately. Castiel hesitated—to invade another angel's mind was frowned upon, rarely done unless the angel in question was on trial for suspicion of betraying or rebelling against Heaven. But this was to help save people's lives…surely he could make an exception? He looked into Sam's eyes, then Dean's, and he knew he would break the rules if it would help them. He doubted there was anything he wouldn't do if they asked.

He looked back at his brother and reached out with his Grace, probing lightly. The cherub opened himself wide to the seraph, allowing him in to see every thought and feeling, every corner and crevice. There was not a dark thought in there—it was full of light and love and a desire to make everyone happy.

Castiel sighed, retracting his Grace. "He is being truthful—he is not the one we are looking for," he told the brothers. The cherub slumped in relief.

"Oh, what a relief. Thank you, brother, for clearing me of suspicion!" he said happily, and hugged Castiel again, laughing joyously. Castiel tensed but allowed it to happen with a resigned sigh, patting his back and grimacing at the brothers.

"Do you think you could help us find the one who did this?" Sam asked suddenly. The cherub pulled back to look at him, and Castiel quickly ducked out of his arms, moving back to stand by Dean. The hunter sent him a look that the seraph couldn't interpret—his eyes were distant and cool once more. He was closed off, withdrawn. Castiel frowned, about to ask him what the matter was, but the cherub interrupted his train of thought.

"Sorry, Sammy, but I don't do that sort of thing," he chortled. "I'm all about love—not violence."

"Please, brother, understand," Castiel jumped in. "If you helped us find the one who was meddling with the couples you are setting up, we could save lives."

"I do understand, brother," the cherub assured him, eyes bright and warm, "but like I said, it's not my department. Now, _you,_" he added, glancing at Dean with a broad smile, "_you _I could definitely assist."

Dean stiffened as Castiel and Sam glanced at him questioningly, glaring at the cherub. "No," he said darkly. "Stay out of it."

"It's not as complicated as you're making it, Dean," the cherub responded earnestly. "All you have to do is open yourself up and admit that you're in love—"

The cherub's words broke off as he was interrupted by Dean's fist connecting squarely with his face. Dean swore violently, clutching his hand—he'd probably broken or at least sprained it—and the cherub vanished with a flash of wings.

"Where'd he go?" he practically snarled. "I wasn't finished with him!"

"You scared him off," Castiel stated drily. "Cherubs dislike violence—you probably upset him."

"Well he deserved it!" Dean yelled. "He had no right to go probing my emotions like that, invading my head and trying to make me—to make me…" He faltered, meeting Castiel's eyes for a moment—his own were filled with confusion, pain, and anger—before looking away to glare at the wall. "He had no right," he snarled quietly, fists clenched. His knuckle was split, blood dripping slowly down his fist and falling to the concrete, but he didn't seem to notice or didn't care.

"That's enough, Dean!" Sam snapped. "You're out of control."

"Shut up, Sam—you have no idea what's going on here!" Dean snapped right back, facing him with furious, flashing eyes.

The brothers erupted into a violent argument, and Castiel watched in confusion. He wasn't sure what he was feeling—unhappy, certainly, because he never liked when his two favorite people were arguing. And confused, unsure what Dean was so upset about or what that look had meant. But the angel felt strange in a way he couldn't define because it was unfamiliar, warm but tense and his stomach felt clenched and empty, hollow almost, and he felt weak and…and…he wasn't sure. It was slipping away from him. But he _did_ know that he hated listening to the brothers argue. They were practically at each other's throats.

"Stop," he said quietly. The brothers didn't hear him, as they had both raised their voices as the argument wore on. Castiel sighed and stepped up between them. "I said," he placed a hand on each of their chests and shoving, hard, and continued as they stumbled back, "_stop._" He glared at them both. "You two are acting foolishly, arguing like petty children over this."

They both glared at him silently, and he noticed the fatigue in both of them. They had shadows under their eyes—probably from the nightmares they refused to speak of—and they looked worn-out underneath the anger still evident in their expressions. "You are both exhausted—you should go back to the motel and rest," he told them. "We can continue researching tomorrow."

They reluctantly agreed, so Castiel touched two fingers to each of their foreheads and, with a swirl of his Grace, they slipped through space and in an instant they were standing by the Impala. Dean didn't look at either of them as he climbed in wordlessly, slamming the door and starting the engine. He revved it impatiently, but Sam hesitated, looking at Castiel.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked. The angel tilted his head confusedly.

"Of course—why wouldn't I be?" he inquired.

"Nothing, I just…" Sam sighed, shaking his head. He rubbed his face wearily. "Never mind. I'll see you in the morning, Cas," he mumbled, climbing into the Impala before Castiel could respond.

The car peeled out of the parking lot and drove off, probably to the nearest motel. Castiel watched it go, feeling that curious ache in his chest again. He also felt the strange hollowness in his gut. When it rumbled once more, Castiel remembered—hunger. He was hungry.

He frowned—he was an Angel of the Lord. He shouldn't feel a desire for things of the flesh, hunger should not be able to bother him. Yet he was unable to deny the yearning this body felt for food. He craved more burgers like the one he had eaten earlier—the mere thought made him salivate again. Castiel brushed the feeling aside impatiently, but he felt uneasy. He wanted to help the Winchesters—he had a bad feeling about the situation in this town.

Something was very wrong here, and he had no clue what. But he was determined to find out.

* * *

><p><strong>[So, yeah-that's Part 1. Part 2 will hopefully be up soon, no promises now that school is starting again, but I'll do my best. I'll try to have part 2 up by the end of this week, maybe Friday or Saturday. But what did you guys think? Good, bad? Love it, hate it? Any ideas or requests to make it better? Lemme know! :)]<strong>

**-Makky**


	6. The Hunt: Part II (Conclusion)

**[A/N: Man oh man I forgot how hectic things got while I was in school. Freaking finals, man, not to mention a lot of personal shit that just had me down...it's been a long, rough few weeks, ugh…But you came here to escape reality, not listen to me whine about my crappy one. So, behold, I present to you a new chapter to enjoy! I don't like this one much, it was hard to get into the flow and I feel like it kind of sucks, especially in the beginning…but I needed to update, so sorry about that…and I would also like to apologize in advance for how I ended this chapter…yeah, you guys won't be very happy with me…probably even less so when I tell you that there's only a few chapters left after this one before I end this fic. BUT THERE'LL BE A SEQUEL SO THERE'S THAT TO LOOK FORWARD TO, RIGHT?! Right.]**

**[While this chapter partially sucks and frustrated me, it's also fun in that it's got a little bit of input from everyone in Team Free Will, so we'll see how that goes but I enjoyed going beyond the usual parameters. Also, in this chapter there are a few lines I stole straight from the episode, mainly the part describing Famine, and there might be a couple others (can't really remember, I'm half asleep and it's all a blur in my head—better safe than sorry though!) but mostly that part. I acknowledge that as not mine (-sob, sob sniffle-) and give all credit to Ben Edlund who wrote this particular episode.]**

**[Okay I'm done. Enjoy! :)]**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

**_Part 2_**

Things got a little hazy for Castiel after that. The hunger grew stronger every moment he was with the Winchesters in that town. The aching in his stomach drew his attention constantly, reminding him of his cravings as they grew stronger. He found himself unable to concentrate on the case—Sam or Dean would be mid-conversation with him, and he would be day-dreaming of burgers.

Still, he was furious with himself for not recognizing the signs sooner. Once he realized what was happening, it was fairly obvious. The thing that finally tipped him off was not his own craving, but Sam's.

Sam reluctantly admitted to Dean and Castiel, after a couple of days with no progress, that he could smell demons in town…or more specifically, he could smell their blood. He _craved _it, and Castiel could sense the powerful hunger inside him, the aching need that he also felt. Dean was appalled, and Sam looked ashamed. But the hunger in him was what finally made it click in Castiel's head.

He sat upright suddenly, startled out of his dazed dreaming of a cheeseburger, his eyes bright with understanding.

"I know what it is," he announced to the brothers. They were sprawled across their beds doing research, Sam with his laptop and Dean with their father's journal, and each had a case file with papers scattered in disarray around them. Both glanced up immediately at the angel's declaration, waiting. The angel cleared his throat and continued, "We've been looking at this like love, or desire, correct? But that's not what these people are experiencing. It's _hunger._ Everyone in this town is hungry for something—love, sex, food," he gestured to himself, finally understanding his strange need for red meat, "demon blood," he added with a gesture at Sam, who flushed and looked down.

"That's great, Cas," Dean said sarcastically. He had been in a rotten mood since the start of this case, but it had rapidly deteriorated since Sam's admission that he was struggling with his addiction. Actually, looking back at it, Castiel thought he'd been getting more and more short-tempered since their interview with the cherub. He was drawn from his speculation by the hunter's acerbic voice. "People are hungry, that's just great to know. Top-notch, great job," he spat, clapping sarcastically. Sam glared at his brother, who ignored him.

Castiel frowned at Dean, unable to ignore the slight sting Dean's words caused. He hated when Dean was upset, but it seemed to be a near-constant thing with him, at least where the angel was concerned. "What more do you need?" he asked, and he felt his mask of indifference—the one he'd begun to pull up whenever he was feeling the emotions too intensely; the one he usually reserved for when he was around the angels, but had been put into more frequent use by Dean's constant verbal attacks recently—fall into place as he spoke coolly. The mask was cracked, he and the brothers knew each other well enough by now that they would still be able to see some of what he was feeling, but he was distant, reserved. It was easier to deal with the feelings if he put up a wall between himself and the emotions, however fractured said wall might be.

Sam glanced at him, concerned by the abrupt change in demeanor. Dean, however, rolled his eyes, not noticing since he was avoiding glancing at Castiel at all costs, and his tone was as biting as before when he replied, "Oh, I don't know, maybe what's _causing_ people to go all cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs so we can gank the son of a bitch?"

Castiel felt his confusion clear from his expression, although his face remained impassive and distant. "Oh, that's easy. It's Famine," he told them.

Dean looked confused, but Sam went pale. "The Horseman?" he gasped, horrified.

The angel nodded, remembering learning of the Four Horsemen from his time spent studying the signs of the Apocalypse, and he had the words memorized. He watched the brothers as he murmured gravely, "**'**And then will come Famine, riding on a black steed. And then will come Famine riding on a black steed. He will ride into the land of plenty. And great will be the Horseman's hunger, for he is hunger. His hunger will seep out and poison the air'."

Dean looked slightly shaken, but he forced a heavy laugh. "Well at least we know how to deal with a Horseman," he chuckled bleakly. "So all we gotta do is find the son of a bitch and cut his ring off, like we did with War, and problem solved! Right?" He finally glanced at Castiel as he said this, but looked away as soon as the angel nodded a confirmation.

"Don't make it sound so easy, Dean," Sam said bleakly. "Remember how hard it was to get War's ring?" Sam cringed, and Dean sighed.

"I know, Sammy, but at least this time we know what we're doing, and now we know what we're dealing with so we can make a plan and get something done."

Castiel was having a hard time focusing again. He felt dizzy with hunger, even though he had already eaten a dozen burgers before joining the Winchesters today. It made sense, now that he knew it was Famine, but it still unnerved him. All he could think about was how _hungry _he was—did humans struggle with sensations so powerful all the time? No wonder Dean ate so much…

He shook his head dazedly, trying to focus. Neither hunter seemed to have noticed his preoccupation—they were too busy discussing tactics. Despite participating with them on many hunts, Castiel still didn't have the instincts necessary to be valuable in such a discussion, so he allowed his thoughts to wander once more, gazing idly out the window.

His thoughts were, typically, predominately of Dean. Even without watching the elder brother, he was hyper-aware of his presence. He could sense Dean's soul—it was shining like a beacon, demanding his attention. It was the only thing that could draw his attention from his hunger. Although it led to a different kind of tightening in his gut, this was familiar, and the seraph almost welcomed the sensation, vastly preferring familiar hunger over this new, strange one that threw him off and confused him all over again.

Dean's soul. It was as radiant as Castiel recalled from Hell, only now that it was in his body the glow was slightly muted. If he stared hard enough, he could still discern it, but that made Dean uncomfortable so he tried not to make a habit of it. But it was like asking him to ignore the sunrise each morning—he could do it, but he was loathe to miss such radiance when he had the opportunity to view it. And the longer he was in the hunter's presence, the more difficult it became as he became increasingly restless and hungry. So he kept sneaking admiring glances at the hunter in an (unsuccessful) attempt to sate his hunger and unease, repressing a sigh each time. Dean thankfully remained oblivious, but Sam eventually caught him at it and raised a questioning eyebrow. The angel shrugged, unsure how to explain.

Dean wouldn't even look at him, so he was able to get away with sneaking peeks at him even though it didn't help anything. Castiel knew he hated research so he felt that the devotion to the task was an excuse to continue ignoring him. He tried to ignore the slight sting the idea caused, surprised by how much it hurt that Dean was ignoring him.

As time inched on at an agonizingly slow pace, Castiel kept fidgeting as his agitation grew increasingly difficult to ignore. The hunger was almost unbearable now, consuming even more of his attention than his preoccupation with Dean. He wanted food, meat in particular, in the worst way—he craved it, _needed _it, the way an alcoholic needs wine when on withdrawal. The seraph loathed that such a trivial thing as food for his vessel could be so demanding, but there was no denying the truth that if he was to be of any use he would have to satisfy his hunger. Once he decided that, he gave in to the craving and it was ravenous, almost painful, like an animal had been let loose in his gut and was trying to claw his way free.

He kept his face composed but for a slight wince as his stomach growled loudly. He caught the suppressed snickers when the brothers heard his somewhat human reaction, and he spared a light glare for both of them.

"I need a break," he announced, standing abruptly. Dean glanced at him, startled by his sudden declaration, but Sam looked sympathetic as he nodded, waving him away. Castiel nodded at Sam, avoided Dean's gaze, and removed himself from the presence of his two favorite people. He loved them both, but he needed to take care of himself before he could be of any use to them.

* * *

><p>When he returned to the Winchesters, it was late evening, he had a sack of burgers from a diner called <em>White Castle, <em>and he was happily munching on another burger. He thought it was in the low hundreds, but he could be off. He had practically inhaled the first several dozen without keeping track, (ignoring the incredulous stares he had received from the few patrons there) so it was conceivable that it was more. He had then requested for a large order to go, and had vanished before they could ask for money he couldn't give them. The angel felt slightly guilty about not paying for the food, but it couldn't be helped…he tried not to think about it, as Dean would probably suggest to him.

He sighed and refocused on the situation at hand. He was in the Impala with Dean.

They had left Sam at the motel because his craving for demon blood was as strong as Castiel's for red meat and they didn't want him to lose control and spiral. But Castiel had managed to use the remnants of the soul Sam had procured from one of Famine's minions to track down the Horseman. They were sitting outside a restaurant now, and Famine was supposedly inside. Dean was watching the establishment warily, trying to decide if they should go in or wait. Castiel was waiting for Dean's decision, but he wasn't really paying attention, if he was being honest. His focus was fractured, by his hunger, by the omnipresent worry that Michael would tear him away from his mission, and by Dean—always by Dean…

…who turned to him abruptly, eyeing the burger in his hands with some distaste. "How many of those things have you eaten, man?" he demanded.

Startled, Castiel thought for a moment before shrugging. "I believe it is in the low hundreds?" he hedged. "I lost track a while back."

Dean snorted. "That can't be good for your…vessel. You're not going to have a heart attack, are you?"

The angel shook his head. "My grace generally keeps this body in top form. The hunger is substantial, almost insatiable unless I am eating—" His nose wrinkled slightly with distaste as well when he admitted how potent his cravings were, feeling somewhat powerless against it and hating the feeling. "—but Jimmy Novak will suffer no damage from my 'binge eating'."

"Well that's something, at least," the hunter muttered, glancing out the Impala's window again. Castiel had the sense that Dean was just stalling, and while he understood that, he also knew they had to deal with this as soon as possible—people were dying, they had to put a stop to that. But he wouldn't push Dean, since the hunter knew more practical things about hunting than he did.

He glanced at Dean curiously as they waited, thoughtfully nibbling on his burger. Dean was normally always eating or drinking, yet rather than his cravings increasing in the presence of Famine, they seemed to have been eradicated. He had hardly eaten since they came into town, and Sam had told him earlier that Dean had also lost his sex drive. Valentines' Day was apparently a favorite holiday for Dean to go out and 'get laid', but this year he hadn't even attempted to do so. It worried Castiel, made him wonder what was going on with his hunter that he wasn't talking about.

"There's something I don't understand," he told Dean tentatively, earning a snort and another glance from the man.

"What's that, Cas?" he inquired with an arch of his eyebrow.

Ignoring the flip-flop of his stomach as the hunter focused his gaze on him for the first time in days, Castiel chose his words carefully, not wanting to anger Dean or cause him to shut down. "Everyone else in town has been feeling Famine's effects potently, even me and Sam." He grimaced and proceeded cautiously, "But you haven't. You've hardly eaten, you haven't touched a beer, and you haven't even flirted with the various attractive females we've encountered. What's your hunger, Dean?"

An unfathomable look filled the man's eyes before he glanced away, his hands flexing into fists where they rested on his thighs. Castiel noted the tension that his query had caused, eyes momentarily flickering over the now-rigid muscles of Dean's body before focusing on his face again, waiting patiently for an answer.

After several long moments filled with silence, Dean exhaled slowly and glanced back at him, a false humor the only emotion in his usually expressive eyes. It made the angel sad that the hunter felt he had to lie and pretend to him, that Dean tried to hide things and chose to lie and shut him out instead of trusting him.

"I don't know, Cas. I guess I'm just…not hungry. I mean, when I want to eat, I go out and get something to eat. Same goes for beer, sex, money…" He shrugged.

Castiel felt his eyebrows furrow as his head tilted. "So you're saying you're just well-adjusted?" he inquired skeptically.

Dean snorted, and his laugh was slightly more genuine this time. "God, no. I'm just well-fed." He ruffled the angel's hair casually, smirking at the slightly irritated look on the angel's face. "Anyways, enough talking—you remember the plan?" he asked, shifting the topic abruptly.

Castiel nodded and recited dutifully, "I will go in and scout for danger. If it is all clear, I will send you a signal. If it is not, I will come back, we regroup and form a plan." He hastily stuffed the last of his burger in his mouth, swallowing quickly and licking his slightly greasy fingers clean, ignoring the face Dean made.

"I still don't like this," Dean muttered. "So much could go wrong—"

"I'll be fine, Dean," he interrupted with a wave of his hand, "Have a little faith. I'll be right back." With a bit of Grace, he left the car, reappearing inside the kitchen of the restaurant before Dean could waste any more time with further protests.

His senses were immediately assaulted by several repulsive smells, causing the angel to pinch his nose in an attempt to block out the scents, face contorted with disgust. The smell of burning flesh was easiest to identify the source of: a man, supposedly an employee judging by his uniform and nametag, was half-immersed in one of the greasy vats where they made French fries, the flesh on his hands and arms seared and half-burned away due to the boiling water, greasy fries stuffed excessively in his mouth. He appeared to have choked.

Castiel shuddered and stepped around him, doing his best to ignore the smell of nicotine from the woman on the ground with cigarettes similarly stuffed in her mouth as he stepped over her body. He winced a bit when he noticed the faint rise and fall of her chest—she was clinging to life by her fingertips. He hesitated, but knelt by her body, touching her forehead lightly and murmuring, "I am sorry for your suffering. Be at peace," and he poured an infinitesimal amount of his Grace into her—just enough to ease her pain and allow her to pass into the next life peacefully. She looked up into his eyes, and he saw gratitude there just before her labored breathing ceased; she closed her eyes, going still.

Castiel stood carefully, his rage building as he stepped around her. He hated Famine for what he was doing to these people—all these slow, painful deaths that could have been avoided infuriated him, and he was determined to make the Horseman pay for his crimes. In his anger he forgot about the plan with Dean, focusing only on the fact that he could sense Famine in the next room, along with a couple of demons—nothing he couldn't handle. Demons were next to meaningless, lower than the lowest filth to an angel who could destroy them with Grace as easily as he could, so he wasn't worried. He didn't need Dean to get involved, so he would handle it.

He shoved the door from the back diner he had been lingering in open and strode into the next room confidently, glaring at the seemingly crippled man in the wheelchair guarded by three demons.

His confidence vanished as the near constant-hunger he felt increased exponentially as Famine's presence washed through him, surrounding him in a choking, smothering ravenousness welled up in him. He felt as though he were shriveling away to nothing. His head spun sickeningly, and he worried for a moment he would faint. He barely heard the Horseman's taunting words as another wave of nauseating dizziness sent the angel to his knees, bracing his hands on the floor as he struggled to retain consciousness.

"So the hunters sent their favorite dog after me," Famine wheezed. "How endearing. Throw him a steak," he instructed one of his demons. The hellspawn in question looked at Castiel distastefully, opening the black briefcase at his side. Castiel felt nauseated by the fact that his mouth watered when he smelled the raw meat packaged inside, but the staggering hunger twisting his insides painfully overruled rational thought. When the briefcase was kicked toward him, he shamelessly ripped the package open and tore into the meat with a savagery that would have disturbed him if he'd been in the right frame of mind.

The instant he gave himself over to the hunger, as soon as the meat touched his tongue, Castiel's thoughts went blank, and he was lost to the world.

* * *

><p>Dean lasted about five minutes before he got too impatient (i.e. worried) to keep waiting for Castiel's signal. Honestly, Cas was lucky he had lasted this long. Scouting should have only taken a minute. The fact that it had taken this long just told Dean that something had gone wrong, and it was time to bust in and save the angel's ass.<p>

Swearing under his breath as he thought of everything that could have happened, Dean berated himself for not going in sooner as he threw open the door of the Impala, pausing only to ensure he had a rock salt gun. While checking for the gun, he remembered that Sam had given him Ruby's knife before they had left, and he felt slightly comforted when he felt the hilt of the blade at his belt. Somewhat reassured, he jogged up to the front door of the restaurant.

No time to think—Cas was probably in trouble, so he had to act now. Throwing caution to the wind, he kicked the door open and whipped out his gun, training it on the nearest demon and firing. The thing screamed and hissed, flashing furious black eyes at him. "You will die for that, hunter scum," it hissed, lunging at him. Dropping the gun to whip out his knife, Dean used the demon's momentum against it, plunging the knife deep into its ribs and twisting it violently.

"I don't think so," he snarled as yellow and orange lights like fire flashed before the demon slumped, dead. Dean yanked the knife out and turned to face the other two demons he saw, who was watching him warily. It glanced at the ancient man in the wheelchair, as though seeking permission, which puzzled Dean just enough to give him pause before he realized that must be Famine. He watched the figure warily, feeling his flesh crawl as those dark eyes roved over him greedily.

"So this is the Winchester destined to host Michael," the man rasped. "Come closer, child."

"Hell no!" Dean snapped, repulsed. Then he noticed something behind Famine. The animalistic grunts and the occasional slurping noise sounded like a savage beast feeding on a kill, but that trench coat…and he could just make out a head of dark, slightly curly hair…

"Cas?" he whispered, appalled. He levelled a vicious glare at Famine when the Horseman chuckled. "What the hell did you do to my friend?" he roared, advancing recklessly. The demons backed away from him, but he ignored them, focused entirely on his angel. He almost snarled when Famine wheeled his chair in front of Dean to block his progress.

"You sent a dog after me," he wheezed, "so it seemed only logical to throw him a steak." He chuckled again, looking smug as he examined Dean, whose fists clenched. He wanted nothing more than to break that nose, drive the knife into the Horseman as he had with the demon, wanted nothing more than for this man who had caused so much misery to die for what he'd done. But he was out of his league here. He took a deep breath, shaking slightly with fury.

"Let him go," Dean said quietly, the soft tone doing nothing to hide his anger.

"I'm the one in charge here, not you, Dean Winchester," the Horseman informed him, sounding almost chastising. He suddenly reached out and grabbed Dean's wrist on the hand that still gripped his knife. The hunter tried to recoil, shuddering, but damn, the dude has a wickedly strong grip for how ancient he seemed. He ignored Dean's fruitless attempts to pull away and closed his eyes, frowning.

Dean felt a strange, hollow sensation in his chest—the feeling was not unfamiliar; he'd been noticing it for a while, but he generally dismissed it since he wasn't sure what to do about it, and it usually went away if he ignored it long enough. But this was different form the usual feeling—it felt uncomfortable, almost invasive, like it was imposed on him from the outside rather than coming from him, and it pissed him off. He renewed his struggles, only getting more pissed when he couldn't break the guy's grip. The longer Famine held on to him, the worse the feeling got, and the harder and more desperately Dean struggled.

He finally opened his eyes a moment later, regarding Dean with a whole new level of fascination. "How curious," he breathed, finally releasing Dean.

He stumbled back, rubbing his wrist to try and erase the remembered feeling of that wrinkly, greedy hand grabbing him. He felt like he'd just been raped, and he shuddered again, glaring at Famine, who had the nerve to laugh.

"Such loneliness and anger," he murmured, studying Dean, who went cold all over as he tensed. "Poor Dean Winchester, in love with a being that can never return his feelings, destined to be alone and dead inside." His tone was mockingly sympathetic. Dean felt splinters of pain inside, and he glanced at Castiel, hoping desperately that the angel hadn't heard. He felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment when the angel showed no reaction to Famine's announcement. Then he noticed the demons smirking at him, and his fury sparked once more.

_Time to gank some evil sons of bitches and raise a little hell, _he thought to himself with a little smirk, adjusting his grip on his knife.

"You talk like you know me, but you don't know jack shit," he informed the Horseman casually. His usual arrogance returned as he shrugged off the last several moments. That was something to be buried. Cas hadn't noticed, and Sam wasn't here, so he didn't have to explain himself. The thought reassured him, and he smirked at the demons. "And I'm not going to let you hurt anyone else."

"You say that as though you can stop me," Famine wheezed, and the demons laughed, advancing on Dean. He relaxed. This, he could handle, no problem. It was as familiar as Sammy's soothing snores in the bed next to him during sleepless nights, as comfortable as Cas' presence had become curled next to him when he woke up. Family business: saving people, hunting things.

He fell into a familiar rhythm, ducking the first blow and stabbing upward, killing the first demon with ease. He yanked the knife free as it fell in a heap, smirking.

His arrogance cost him.

He forgot about the other demon a second too long.

The blow to the back of his head was a painful reminder that lasted an instant before he blacked out.

* * *

><p>Sam felt like he was going to be sick. He wanted…no, <em>needed<em> it. If he didn't get demon blood soon, he felt like he was going to implode. He had already rubbed his wrists raw rubbing against the handcuffs Dean had put him in before leaving, and the pain helped clear his mind for a few moments, but it never lasted. He always fell back into a hunger-induced craze only minutes later, groaning and screaming as the cravings stabbed his insides, hot and painful like a thousand needles prickling inside him. He shuddered and slammed his head against the wall, breathing heavily.

He heard the door open, and relief washed over him.

"Dean? Cas?" he called, voice hoarse from all the screaming he had done. Then he frowned, because his craving hadn't gone away. Maybe he just had to wait, but…"Guys, I'm not sure it worked. I still feel—"

He cut off abruptly, going rigid, as two demons came in to find him handcuffed to the pipes of the bathroom sink, smirking.

He saw their mouths moving, but he didn't hear a word they said. The instant they came in, he heard a strange ringing in his ears, and he was overwhelmed because he could _smell _them. Rich, spicy, exotic, he could practically taste their blood, and he writhed as need washed through him.

He shuddered as the male demon came close and knelt by him, working at the cuffs on Sam's wrists. Sam watched his mouth move but still heard nothing. The instant he was free, Sam was on his feet with a roar. The male fell back, startled, and Sam kicked him aside—he barely noticed the demon's head crack against the wall, and he didn't care when the demon fell unconscious to the floor—and went after the female. She backed away rapidly, staring at Sam with wide, horror-filled eyes. Sam thought she was screaming, but he didn't hear it, didn't care. He shoved her down to the floor and followed quickly, ignoring her struggles as he buried his face in her throat, tearing savagely at the tender skin until it broke, yielding the thing he so desired at last.

Sweet bliss rolled over him as the rich, dark blood flowed down his throat. Power coursed through him, and he felt invulnerable, invincible. Strength filled him as he drank greedily, the female demon beneath him growing steadily weaker as he sucked. Satisfaction followed quickly, but was soon replaced by fury as a hand descended on his shoulder and tried to pull him off.

Whirling, he turned to face the male demon, and with a feral snarl and a flick of his hand, Sam sent him flying against the wall.

"Wait your turn," he growled, turning to finish what he'd started.

* * *

><p>Once Sam was done, he saw no reason to sit around and wait for the others to come back. He was in his element—he could help Dean and Cas. He could even sense the demons that were with Famine, could smell them, and it ignited a fresh hunger in him, despite having gorged himself moments ago. He could help Dean and Cas and grow stronger at the same time—it seemed like a win-win.<p>

Decision made, Sam headed where his instincts led him.

* * *

><p>Dean could tell things were bad when he woke up.<p>

The first thing he noticed was that he had a bitch of a headache, and he groaned softly, shutting his eyes immediately after opening them. After several long minutes, after the throb became more bearable, he became aware that there was a lot of shouting and scuffling going on. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The second thing he noticed was that he was tied up next to an unconscious Castiel, who was similarly bound. Dean barely had time to glance at him in concern before he noticed the third thing: Sam was there, blood around his mouth. His eyes…oh, god, his eyes…They were pure black. The sight made Dean's blood run cold with sorrow. He had hoped to protect his baby brother from this, but it was too late now. He tried to call Sam's name, but only a hoarse, wordless cry escaped his lips.

Sam didn't even spare a glance for him. His entire attention was focused on the demon. He forcibly exorcized it, extracting black smoke from the human body and slamming it through the ground with his freaky demon mojo as the human left behind collapsed in a heap. Dean couldn't tell if she was alive or not. He shivered in fear, staring at his brother in horror. He would sooner be back in Hell than admit it, but Sam frightened him like this. He didn't seem human, and it pained him to see his brother so far gone, he almost wanted to cry.

Sam turned his cold, black eyes on Famine, who sneered. "Your parlor tricks won't work on me, Samuel Winchester. I am not a demon."

Sam's lip curled back from his bloody lips in something disturbingly like a snarl. "You may not be, but you have been feeding on them," he said in a raspy voice. "I can smell them on you." Dean shuddered as Sam smirked, watching him warily. He hoped desperately that Sam would be able to come back from this.

Sam reached a hand towards Famine, then clenched it into a fist, face twisting in concentration. For a minute, nothing happened, and Dean wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Then Famine shifted uncomfortably, grimacing. A moment later, his eyes widened in alarm as black smoke began to be pulled from his body. Sam smiled savagely in victory, and as his confidence grew the smoke flowed faster. Famine wailed in rage and shuddered.

Dean watched with some trepidation, but he was quickly distracted when Castiel's head snapped up suddenly, his wide azure eyes dazed and confused. "Dean?" he mumbled, seeming almost groggily.

Temporarily forgetting about everything else, Dean focused on Cas. "Cas!" he exclaimed, relieved he was awake. "How're you feeling, buddy?"

The angel frowned, seeming to consider before answering. "I feel…dazed. But not as hungry. What happened?" He looked around, his eyes widening in alarm as he noticed Sam.

Dean winced. "Long story. Not now—we can swap stories later," he said, giving Cas a hard look to let him know that he wasn't off the hook either. Cas looked confused for a moment, then he flushed guiltily, ducking his head.

"I was arrogant, and it got me in trouble," he admitted sheepishly. His wide, deep blue eyes locked on Dean's pleadingly, begging him silently not to be angry. The look tugged at the hollow feeling in Dean's chest, softening it slightly, and he sighed.

"I want the full story. Later, though. For now, can you get us out of this mess?" he asked, flexing against the ropes. Damn, they were well done. He couldn't twist free.

Cas frowned. "I can try, but I think Sam has a handle on it," he said quietly, sounding warily. Dean followed his gaze to his younger brother and he shuddered again when his eyes looked into black depths watching him coldly.

"Hey, Sammy," he said softly. "Can you untie us?" Dean desperately hoped his fear and revulsion didn't show as Sam strode purposefully over to them, not saying a word. He paused when he was beside Famine, cocking his head a moment. Then in a sudden move that had both hunter and angel flinching with the savagery of it, Sam bent down, grabbed Ruby's knife from the floor—where it must have fallen when Dean had been knocked out, he realized with a wince—and sliced off Famine's finger with the ring. He pocketed it without batting a lash, then proceeded to the bound pair, bloody blade gripped tightly in a white-knuckled fist.

He crouched in front of them, methodically cutting away the ropes. "You're welcome for saving your asses." It was such a normal statement, such a normal tone of voice. If Dean hadn't been able to smell the rank scent of blood on his breath, hadn't been forced to see the black eyes or the scarlet stain around Sam's mouth and chin, he could almost convince himself that Sam was fine and nothing was wrong.

Almost.

As soon as he was free, Dean helped Sam untie Cas, and in no time the three were in the Impala, driving away at a reckless speed because Dean couldn't wait to get out of there. Dean wanted to keep an eye on Cas to make sure the guy was really alright, so he gave Sam a look that had him wordlessly sliding into the back seat while Dean slipped behind the wheel, leaving Cas to sit in the shotgun. Dean kept glancing back at Sam in his mirror, hoping to see the black gone from his eyes, worried the longer they continued looking like that.

"Where are we going, Dean?" Cas asked softly, interrupting Dean's worry from Sam and re-focusing it on his angel. He glanced at the angel for as long as he could considering he was driving. He didn't need to think long before he had a response.

"Bobby's, for a little R&R. Rest and recovery," he added, seeing Cas' confusion. The angel nodded in comprehension and opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by Sam's derisive snort.

"More likely to put me in detox," he sniped. Dean glanced at him warily, not denying it, which only seemed to piss Sam off. "I'm fine, Dean!" he snapped, crossing his arms and glaring out the window. "Yes, I drank demon blood. But I haven't gone dark side. I'm not crazy like I was before. You don't have to lock me away."

Dean snorted and opened his mouth, but Cas beat him to it. "Sam, have you looked in a mirror since you drank the demon blood?"

"No," he replied shortly, not quite as bitchy to the angel as he had been to his brother, but far from his usual kind self. "I was a bit too occupied saving your asses to worry about my looks."

Dean went tense when he saw the slight hurt in his angel's eyes at Sam's tone, about to snap his little brother's head off for being such a little bitch, but Cas again spoke before he could. "Your eyes are the reason your brother is worried. They're pitch black," he informed Sam gently, watching his reaction warily. Dean glanced in the mirror as well, so he saw Sam's eyes widen with shock and horror.

"So," Dean said, his irritation obvious in his tone, earning a guilty look from Sam and a chastising one from Cas, "we're going to Bobby's. You can stay in the panic room until you're clean again, and in the meantime Cas and I can rest up." Sam sighed and nodded, reluctantly acquiescing to the plan, and then he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, obviously intending to sleep. Judging by his snores a few moments later, he succeeded.

Dean envied him. He was exhausted. But no way was he letting Cas drive his baby, so he'd stick it out until they got to Bobby's.

"Dean…?" Cas asked tentatively. Sparing a brief glance for him, the hunter saw that the angel looked anxious and sheepish, almost guilty, which made him frown. What now? "I was just…I wanted to say I'm sorry, for letting you down back there."

Frown deepening, Dean glared sideways at Cas. "Don't talk like that, man. It wasn't your fault. You did fine."

"But—"

"No," Dean cut across his protest with an angry wave of his hand. "Don't, Cas. You did good—you came when we called, and if it weren't for you we wouldn't have figured out it was Famine until it was too late, and it would have been disastrous."

"It _was_ disastrous," the angel murmured dejectedly. Dean slugged his shoulder, scowling.

"Quit it, man. Enough with the self-blaming and the guilt. Don't wallow in this. Everyone screws up on a hunt sometimes. You may be an angel, but you're not perfect, and we get that. We appreciate what help you can give us, so quit being so hard on yourself." Seeing the skepticism linger on Cas' face, he added, "Sam and I like having you around, Cas. You help us a lot. We…_I _really appreciate you sticking with us through all this crap."

He glanced away as he muttered the last part, the hollow feeling in his chest aching slightly, hating to admit even that, feeling vulnerable and angry because of it. Damn this stupid angel with the big blue eyes and the messy hair that made him feel so unsure of himself. He was Dean fucking Winchester, not some love-struck teen with a crush.

_Crush. _The word made his hands clench on the steering wheel, his stomach tightening with dread. He pushed away all the feelings and memories the negative connotations of that word brought to mind, cringing away from the _L Word_. He didn't have crushes. He had flings, and one-night-stands. He wasn't in…he didn't like Cas that way. That wasn't how it was between them. Nope, not even a little bit.

That was all forgotten quickly, though, when he saw a slight smile tugged up Castiel's lips, igniting a warm, calm feeling in Dean. He relaxed a little.

"Thank you, Dean," he murmured. "I enjoy spending time with you and Sam, even if you are not always pleasant," he said wryly. Dean huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Can we stop the chick-flick talking-about-our-feelings moment now?" he griped sarcastically. He thought he saw disappointment flicker on Cas' face, but it was there and gone so quickly he couldn't be sure. The angel only nodded, turning to shift his gaze out the window.

It was tense for a few moments, but then Cas reached out to turn on the radio. Dean almost slapped his hand away, like he definitely would if Sam dared try to pick the music while Dean drove, but when Cas glanced at him apprehensively, he just sighed and nodded his consent. Another small smile turned his lips up, making Dean feel sure he had made the right decision, and he fiddled with the radio until he found a station he seemed to like.

Dean grinned as a song he recognized floated through the car, drowning out Sam' soft snores in the background. He sang along, and Cas even joined in after a brief hesitation, surprising Dean. But he had a surprisingly pleasant voice, if a little rough, and before long, they were jamming out together, Dean banging the steering wheel while Cas awkwardly bounced and air-drummed, causing Dean to laugh.

They both seemed to realize how loud they were being at the same time, and glanced at Sam in the back. He continued snoring, so they relaxed and continued through the rest of the song together. When it ended, they grinned and laughed together, and Dean left it on his station for the rest of the drive.

They swapped stories about what had happened after they split up to go after Famine, and then they lapsed into a fare more comfortable silence. The rest of the drive passed without incident, much to Dean's relief.

He'd had enough excitement for a while.

* * *

><p>Dean sighed with relief as they pulled up outside Bobby's mid-morning the next day. They had driven all night with only one break so Dean and Sam could take a piss. His eyes were dry and itchy with fatigue, and he wanted nothing more than to crash on Bobby's couch and sleep for a week.<p>

The trio trouped up to the door, and Sam knocked. Dean noted with relief that his eyes looked normal again now, which he took to be a hopeful sign that Sammy would be alright. No lasting damage had been done, for which he was grateful.

Dean was almost swaying with exhaustion when Bobby finally opened the door. He took the three of them in with one long look, then shook his head and stepped back, inviting them in.

"You three," he sighed. "I swear, you look worse off each time I see you. What was it this time?"

"Horseman," Dean mumbled, staggering past him into the house. The familiar smell of whiskey and stale beer greeted Dean, unpleasant but familiar, and it felt like he'd come home. As he fell on the couch, he was vaguely aware of Cas giving Bobby a more detailed version of the past few days.

Bobby listened to the whole story silently, then glanced at Sam appraisingly, who tensed and looked down.

"Let's get you into rehab, boy," he said gruffly, but the concern was evident in his eyes as he led Sam downstairs. Dean watched them go, his own worry warring with his exhaustion. He tried to get up, but he just couldn't. He was too tired.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, sighing wearily. He felt the couch dip next to him, and a familiar presence pressed lightly against his side on the small couch. He cracked an eye open to peer at Cas.

"You gonna stay?" he mumbled, his words blurring together with exhaustion.

Cas hesitated. "I should report to my garrison…Michael will want to know about the Horseman, at the very least."

"Go report, then," Dean mumbled sleepily, closing his eyes again. "Just come back soon, okay?"

"Of course, Dean. I'll see you soon." There was the familiar rustle of invisible wings, which made Dean wonder again about Cas' wings. He made a mental note to ask if he could see them sometime. He had barely formed the thought before fatigue overcame him, and he sank into sleep.

* * *

><p>Castiel could sense something was wrong as soon as he touched down in Heaven<p>

Michael was waiting for him, his expression stormy. Castiel looked at him warily, bowing his head in deference in the hope of appeasing his brother's anger. It didn't seem to work, which meant that Michael must be severely angered about something the seraph had done. He had a guess. He only hoped he was wrong.

"Michael," he greeted cautiously.

"Castiel," the archangel said from between his teeth. "Enough is enough."

"I don't know what you mean, brother," he hedged, not quite lying, but not being completely truthful.

Michael's wings stirred in his anger, spreading out slightly and glowing faintly with his wrath. Castiel felt his own wings react in response, feathers ruffling uneasily, the tips curling around him uneasily as though to protect him from the archangel's rage.

"Do not lie to me, Castiel!" he snapped. "You know what I am speaking of. I warned you not to get involved with the Winchesters, yet you ignored my counsels. You fell in love. Now, my vessel is in love with you. This is unacceptable—you have made a mess of this situation. You are henceforth forbidden to return to Earth."

Castiel's thought's spun in a disorienting, fragmented whirl. He gaped at Michael, unable to process what he had just heard.

_My vessel is in love with you _echoed in his head over and over.

Dean…Dean was in love with him? Dean loved Castiel? The seraph didn't dare hope…yet Michael had no reason to lie, and why else would he be so infuriated? Could it be true? The hope that blossomed in his chest was almost painful in its intensity

Then the rest of the archangel's speech registered with Castiel. _Forbidden to return to Earth._

No…no! He had to go back! Michael couldn't take him away, not now! Not after this revelation! Pain and horror tore through Castiel in splintered fragments like broken glass, tearing at his insides in an almost physical sensation. His breathing grew labored as he attempted to control himself.

"Michael…" He murmured, desperately hoping to dissuade his brother.

"No, Castiel," the archangel cut across him, slashing his hand viciously as his eyes flashed furiously. "You are removed from this mission. We will find a replacement for you, but you are to remain in Heaven. You will have no further interactions with the Winchesters. Is that clear?"

His head was spinning. He felt like his world had shattered around him, breaking into pieces. The mask he had been using to hide his feelings from Michael had been cracked, and Michael had seen through his act. He now dropped the mask entirely, allowing his whole aching, raw heart raging with wild emotions to be on full display, no longer hiding anything from his brother. He felt vulnerable, exposed, but he also felt exhilarated and relieved, because keeping secrets was a terrible burden to bear, and he was now freed from that weight.

"No," he said quietly, voice ragged and harsh. Michael's shock was clear—Castiel had never openly disobeyed a direct order.

"Excuse me?" he said just as quietly, his voice pulsing with rage.

"I _said, _no!" Castiel replied, voice stronger. "I will not sever my ties with the Winchesters. I will not leave Earth and all its wonders behind. Father gave us free will, and I intend to exercise it." He glared challengingly at his brother, heart racing with fear and excitement. He was rebelling, he was disobeying—it felt strange, almost wrong, but it was exciting and liberating. He had never felt this aware of himself. He felt energized, invigorated, _alive,_ and he relished each moment of it.

"I see. Then you leave us no choice, Castiel." He lunged forward, seizing Castiel by the wings. Castiel went rigid and attempted to fight him off, but it was too late. He struggled viciously, screaming and twisting, but every movement twisted and wrenched his wings painfully as Michael held on, growling at him.

"Where are you taking me?" the seraph panted, pausing his struggles, wincing as his wings throbbed.

"You're going where the other traitors go," Michael responded coldly. "You'll remain there until you have seen the error of your ways and repent." The word traitor caused another splinter of pain in Castiel's chest, and he wanted to weep from despair.

Michael's wings flared out—all three sets, a radiant glimmering silver on top, pure glowing white in the middle, and soft muted gold on the bottom, and they shimmered and shone with the strength of the archangel's Grace. For a moment Castiel's anger and anguish were lost to pure awe as he stared at the glorious feathers. Then his brother's Grace wrapped around him, and they were both transported to a different part of Heaven.

It wasn't until he saw one of his brothers—Gadreel, who had been imprisoned so long ago that Castiel barely remembered him; he glanced up for a moment when the angels appeared, then looked away morosely, dismissing them and returning to broodingly glaring at the wall next to him—that comprehension dawned on him. Horrified, he stared at his brother. He couldn't be serious! Yet the archangel's hard face did not waver as he shoved Castiel into the cell next to Gadreel's.

"This is where you belong, Castiel," he said coldly. "I hope one day you will atone for the grievous sin you have committed." And before Castiel could say something—anything—in response, he was gone.

Castiel screamed in rage, his wings flaring out and beating against the prison walls and door as he kicked and punched, trying to break free. His Grace grew stronger and exploded out of him, the human equivalent of a nuclear blast that left him panting and swaying from exhaustion. Yet the walls held firm. It was hopeless. He would never see Dean again.

Sagging against the wall, Castiel felt despair wash over him. He may be imprisoned in Heaven, but this felt like his own personal Hell.

As hours passed that turned into days, the seraph wept bitterly, giving up hope of ever escaping.

* * *

><p>It had been days since he'd last seen Cas, and Dean was starting to get worried. They had stayed at Bobby's, but Sam had recovered and was starting to go a little stir-crazy. It had been almost a week since they arrived, and he wanted to move on.<p>

Dean could understand that, but he wanted to wait until Cas came back so the angel would know where to find them. He knew that Cas could probably find them regardless, but he wanted to wait anyways.

Sam agreed reluctantly to wait a couple more days, but Dean could tell he was only trying to placate him.

Sam kept busy helping Bobby with research when the old man grouched at them about "doing all the work while you two idjits laze around, taking up space and drinkin' my beer". They knew he wasn't really mad, but it felt good to do something productive anyways. Dean was too restless to sit around reading books, so he did some tune-ups on the Impala instead. Hard physical work was what he needed to keep his mind busy.

When he finished and had her purring like a kitten, he grew increasingly restless and anxious.

He spent hours on end just wandering the scrap yard, praying to Cas. His prayers started out normal:

_"Hey, Cas. It's Dean. I know you have a lot going on in Heaven, but I haven't seen you in days… Just check in or something, okay?"_

But as days went on and there was no word from his friend, they got increasingly sharper and less friendly. By the last day, he wasn't asking Cas to come back, he was ordering between expletives:

_"Castiel you son of a bitch, get your ass back here! It's almost been a week. This is ridiculous, man. I don't care what you've got going on up there, if I haven't heard from you by tomorrow I'm going to kick your ass when you do finally show your sorry face!"_

When he still got no answer, he really started to worry something was wrong. Cas had always answered his prayers, and he had never stayed away this long, even before they became friends he had dropped by frequently. So the next day, he sent up a general prayer instead of focusing specifically on Cas.

Sitting on the hood of the Impala with a beer in hand, Dean tipped his face towards Heaven, looking slightly disdainful as he began to talk.

"I know you sons of bitches are up there, and I know you have my friend. I don't know why, and I don't care. But I want him back. You hear me? _I want my angel back!" _He almost yelled the last part, throwing his beer down. Several moments passed as he breathed raggedly with anger.

Nothing.

Swearing and sighing, Dean rubbed at his eyes, wondering what to do next.

"Aaww, how sweet. Dean cares about his angel."

Dean nearly went sprawling when a smug, sarcastic sounding voice spoke abruptly behind him, jumping violently from surprise. He had just given up hope of an answer. Then the voice registered in his memory, and he scowled as anger splintered through him.

He turned to face the speaker, his fists clenched at his sides as he glared. But before he could say anything, the origin of the voice raised his hands.

"I know what you're thinking, but I'm here to help."

"Help?" Dean demanded incredulously. "Yeah, right. You never help. You only destroy you son of a bitch." That earned him a snort.

"Fine, if you don't want help getting your angel back after all, then forget about it. Let him rot behind bars." He turned to go, but Dean lunged forward and grabbed his arm, his pulse pounding hard.

"What do you mean, behind bars?" he demanded.

A long-suffering sigh. "Castiel has been taken, imprisoned in Heaven for rebelling against Michael. And unless you want him to remain there for the rest of eternity, you should accept my help, because it's the only help you're going to get."

Dean didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. But he liked the idea of Cas being in prison even less. He sighed. "Fine. I'll accept your help."

A wicked grin was his only response before he was gone.

Dean felt sure he'd just signed himself up for a whole lot of trouble, and he was almost positive he would regret this. But so long as he got Cas back, he didn't care. He'd do anything for his angel and damned be the consequences.

With another sigh, Dean headed inside to inform Sam of their new ally.

* * *

><p><strong>[So…yeah…I warned you guys you wouldn't be happy. To keep things interesting, the next chapter will be from a variety of perspectives again. Don't worry too much. I'm estimating there'll be maybe three or four more chapters after this one, roughly. Maybe an epilogue, we'll see.]<strong>

**[I'm curious to see if y'all can guess who the mystery person who appeared at the end of the chapter was. It probably won't be too hard, and it'll be revealed right away in the next chapter anyways.]**

**[If you really want to inspire me, drop some comments. Theories, ideas, love/hate, confusion, anything is welcome, I just want to hear more from y'all. I'll keep updating no matter what, but more feedback tells me that I have more interest and that keeps me going, so get on it pretty please! That's all for now. DFTBA, guys!]**

—**Makky**


	7. Jail Break

**[A/N: My computer crashed and I lost the beginning of this chapter and had to start over, or I would've had it up sooner! And I'm not entirely sure I like this chapter much better than the last one, but I wanted to update to keep this story alive. And I'm eager to get to the end of this just to see the reactions, especially since I'm getting pretty close to the end now. We're almost there, and you guys won't be happy I know…sorry in advance about that.]**

**[One person in particular has made me very happy: Ivan Alvarado. I want to give a shout-out to him for his comments, they make me so happy. Thanks, Ivan, thank you so much for your service. And thanks for taking the time to read (and re-read as necessary) my story. It means a lot to me that you would devote some of your leisure time to this, so rock on! I hope your life doesn't suck too much and here's to things looking up soon! :)]**

**[Also, I'm not gonna lie—this week's episode messed me up inside…I won't say anything in case anyone is behind, but OH MY GOD such feels! I cried…what did you guys who saw this week's episode think? How do you think they're going to proceed from here? I'm seriously starting to worry….]**

**[For this chapter, the perspectives will kind of jump around, so to make it easier I've labeled each part with the character's perspective. It takes place immediately after the last chapter in Heaven for Cas, but a few hours ahead on Earth with the Winchesters for reasons that will become apparent as you read. Our special guest star will be revealed near the end of the first part of the chapter. Any questions or confusion, feel free to message or comment and I'll be more than happy to explain. I'm not sure I like this one much better than the last one, it's been hard to get into the flow of my writing, but I'm doing my best and I hope you guys are enjoying it…some feedback to let me know how I'm doing would be great ( hint hint ;) :P)]**

**[That's all I have for now, I guess. On with the chapter!]**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

_**Gabriel**_

He hadn't been involved in Heaven's affairs since he had fled eons ago, back when Earth was still new and he was tired of the war between his siblings, tired of watching them fight each other over something as simple as free will. It was obvious to him who was right, but he refused to pick a side because it would only encourage the fighting. As each side had grown increasingly enraged with him, he realized that he couldn't remain neutral as long as he stayed home, and he had run. He forged a new body for himself, and he disappeared.

He stayed gone for a long time.

Even now, he wasn't sure why he chose to help. It was only asking for trouble, assisting these humans. But there was something about these Winchesters—he knew they were important to Heaven, chosen vessels for the Apocalypse and all that, but there was something else about them.

They had pure souls. Purer than any other humans Gabriel had seen since the beginning of Creation.

They intrigued him. So for a long time, he watched them. And when he realized what was going on between his brother, Castiel, and the older Winchester, he had to laugh. It was a rare situation, though not unheard of, for a human and an angel to fall in love. It took a special human for that to happen—there must be something beyond just the pure soul that drew Castiel to Dean, and once Gabriel realized that there was something more going on here, he felt obliged to help, just to see how things would turn out for them.

After offering his help to Dean, he made himself invisible with a snap of his fingers and followed the man inside. He noted the weary trudge and the slump of Dean's shoulders as he flopped next to his brother, Sam, on the shabby couch. Sam glanced up, and Gabriel could clearly see his concern for his older brother in the bright hazel eyes.

He sat on the table, next to a scattered pile of papers and a brightly lit laptop they seemed to be using to track demonic activity, and settled in to listen to their conversation.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sam<strong>_

Sam glanced up as Dean came in and flopped beside him on the couch, not looking him in the eye as he mumbled, "I may have found some help" before Sam could ask for the millionth time how he was. He knew Dean was sick of answering that question, but he was worried—Dean was eating even less than before, and he wasn't sleeping. He wandered the house and junkyard almost like a spirit, not speaking or paying attention, always staring off into space on the rare moments he sat still, never really _here, _and it was really starting to freak Sam out. If Castiel didn't come back soon, Sam wasn't sure what they would do to snap Dean out of this depression he had fallen into.

So the news that there might be some progress had Sam brightening a bit in relief. "Really? That's great!" he enthused, wondering why his brother looked so nervous about sharing this information. "Who is it?"

Dean pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on his lap absently as Sam waited impatiently. Finally, after a long moment, Dean exhaled slowly and said quickly, "The Trickster," staring at his brother warily, obviously anxious about how he reacted.

There was a long moment of silence while Dean just watched Sam's expression go from confusion to shock to outrage in rapid succession.

"You can't be serious," he said furiously from between his teeth. He recalled the Mystery Spot with a wince, watching his brother die a hundred and three times and ways—he had counted every one—while he was powerless to do anything but watch, slowly going insane each time he woke up to that damn song…he shook his head as though trying to physically shake off the memories, though he noticed his hands shaking faintly as he spoke. "You want us to trust the _Trickster_? Are you insane? Of all the people, Dean, why _him?" _His voice rose as he spoke, until he was practically shouting at Dean, who just stared at him helplessly. This scared Sam almost as much as it worried him—Dean was not one to passively sit by while someone insulted him. He should have been throwing punches and insults in equal measure, but he just sat there with sad eyes. It spoke volumes to Sam about how much of a wreck he was about Castiel's absence.

"I don't like it any more than you do, Sammy," Dean said tiredly. "But I don't see many other options. He's powerful, and he said he would help us get Cas back. He's in _prison, _Sammy, that's why he hasn't come back." Dean ran a hand through his hair, a familiar anxious habit, but his pleading eyes did nothing to soften Sam's anger for once.

"Dean, we can't trust him," he insisted. "He's a murderer, a liar, a—"

"An archangel," interrupted a slightly smug familiar voice. Both boys' heads whipped around as they turned to stare at the source. Sam felt fury rise in him as he saw the Trickster sitting on Bobby's table, scattering the research he had worked hard to gather, casually licking a lollipop and looking like he had every right to be there. He snorted and glared at that stupid, smug face with eyes the golden-brown color of honey, and he recalled the last time he'd stared into those eyes as his own had filled with tears. His fists clenched on his lap, and he opened his mouth to get the hell out of here, he didn't care what Dean said, they could find Cas somehow without his help, but Dean spoke first.

"What do you mean, 'an archangel'?" he demanded, staring just as intently as Sam, but without the anger.

"Exactly that, kiddos. You know me as the Trickster, but my actual name is Gabriel." He smirked at Sam as he spoke, and Sam wanted to break his nose.

"If you're an archangel," he demanded coldly, ignoring Dean's glare, "then why the hell are you on earth causing so much trouble when you should be doing Heaven's work?" He crossed his arms. He didn't believe this guy. He was a liar, a _murderer,_ and he wasn't about to trust him with Castiel's life. He dimly realized that he was shaking with fury, but he didn't care.

"The long story is I ran away from home ages ago—family feuding got ugly and I was sick of it." He waved his hand dismissively. "But that's not important right now. What _is _important is that you need my help to save my little brother."

"No, we don't," Sam snapped. He glared when Dean punched his arm and contradicted him, "Yes we do!"

The stupid Trickster had the nerve to look amused at their arguing, which only fanned the flames of Sam's anger. "While you two bicker, Castiel is in prison. Probably bored, probably miserable, probably lonely. You knuckleheads have no hope of getting into Heaven's prisons undetected, not to mention you'd never manage to break him out and escape. I, however, can get in, bust him out, and get out before they even know I'm there. So unless you want to leave Cassy to rot, you should accept my help. What's it gonna be, kiddo?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at Sam and sticking the lollipop back in his mouth.

Sam was about to tell him to go screw himself, but one look at Dean's face stopped him cold. There was pain in Dean's eyes, and fear. They said what his mouth wouldn't, _Sammy, please…_, and that begging showed to Sam just how important it was for them and how badly Dean wanted him to say yes.

He didn't like it. In fact, he hated it. But as he looked into his brother's eyes, Sam knew what his answer would be. He took a deep breath and looked at the Trickster—he'd think of him as Gabriel, the archangel, when he brought Castiel back and proved he was telling the truth—coldly, nodding slowly, noticing Dean's face light up in relief out of the corner of his eyes.

"Go get Castiel out of prison. Please," he added grudgingly when Dean elbowed him.

He hopped down from the table. "One jail break coming right up. See ya soon, kiddos."

And with a snap, he was gone. Sam sighed in relief and finally relaxed, closing his eyes and hoping desperately that he hadn't just gotten Cas into more trouble.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Castiel<strong>_

Castiel wasn't sure how long he'd been imprisoned. When nothing changed and no one came to visit, time was hard to judge. He tried conversing with Gadreel, but his fellow prisoner either couldn't hear him or was refusing to acknowledge him, so it passed in silence.

In a way, Castiel supposed he deserved nothing less than his current imprisonment. He had broken the rules…he had rebelled. The knowledge filled him with shame each time he recalled his actions, but he also knew that if he were given the chance to go back, he would have done nothing different. Yes, he had disobeyed Heaven, but he had done what he had thought was right, and he did not regret that.

He tried counting his heartbeats. They were steady, rhythmic, and it gave him something to focus on. He also found that focusing on breathing helped him remain calm, almost like meditation.

With his head leaned back against the wall and his eyes shut, the seraph tucked his dark wings around himself like a cocoon and counted each thump of his vessel's heart, listened to each breath whistle in and out of his lungs, and he tried to keep his mind clear.

Dean's prayers were the best and worst part of his imprisonment. He smiled when Dean updated him on Sam's condition, glad that Sam had made a full recovery, only to sigh raggedly when Dean continued that they would wait for him at Bobby's for a few days before moving on. Each day that the angel failed to show up, the hunter's prayers grew more impatient and demanding, always with a slight undertone of worry.

After what Castiel judged to be roughly a week, based on the number of heartbeats that had passed and the amount of times Dean prayed to him on average, the hunter was regularly cursing his name and demanding he come back already. It almost physically hurt Castiel that he was unable to come to Dean when he called.

When Dean prayed to Heaven in general, demanding that they return his angel, Castiel felt his heart splinter, and he wanted to sob.

When Sam prayed to him, it was almost as bad. The younger Winchester begged Castiel to return, if only to calm his brother down, and expressed the hope that Castiel was okay. The concern was touching, and it caused a dull throb in his chest that left him aching and morose.

He missed Earth.

He missed all the colors. Everything he could see was white, and while it was beautiful in a way—so pure and clean, untainted and almost perfect—it was boring after a while. There was no variety. Everywhere you looked, it was the same. Just…white. On earth, the trees and the flowers and the sky and the people formed a thousand colors that clashed and mixed like a painting, and it was all vibrant and alive and brilliant in a way that Heaven, with its clean purity, could never hope to mimic.

He missed the smells, too. The prison was devoid of any scent he could identify beyond the lingering Earth aromas clinging to his clothes, and even that was fading.

Most of all, though, Castiel missed the people. He missed hearing a thousand voices talking over each other, laughing and crying, swearing and singing and shouting and soaring over each other until they all blended together into a pleasant background noise that became what he thought of as the soundtrack of Earth. It was oppressively silent here, almost smothering. If Castiel hadn't been so miserable, he would be bored. He wanted to talk to Dean, hear Sam laugh, listen to…what was the name of that band Dean loved? Some random letters he couldn't recall…but they had enjoyed singing together, that last fateful night together as they drove in the Impala.

In that moment, as their voices blended together over the top of the radio with Sam's snores in the backseat, Castiel had never felt closer to anyone, nor had he ever felt so happy. He had felt like he belonged, in a way he had never found among his brothers and sisters. In Heaven, he was always the odd one out, the strange little seraph who was strangely obsessed with the humans and their strange habits. He had been content, but he had always felt out of place, like he didn't belong.

With the Winchesters, that feeling had been replaced. He had found his place just in time to be ripped away from it, and the knowledge left the angel feeling more alone than before.

Castiel closed his eyes. Thinking of Earth only hurt, now that he couldn't go back, so he resolved not to think anymore. He focused once more on his breathing, and he counted each beat of his heart until he lost his thoughts and only the steady thump remained. As his thoughts cleared, the pain fell away, and he was momentarily at peace.

Of course, when his cell walls exploded, that peace was shattered.

Castiel's eyes flew open as he leapt to his feet, wings flared out defensively. He glared through the smoke and rubble at the figure he could vaguely make out. It was laughing madly—it sounded almost insane with glee.

"Oh, man, I haven't done anything that fun in ages!" a familiar voice crowed, and the Castiel felt his eyes widen in shock. He hadn't heard that voice in eons, but he recognized it immediately. But…it couldn't be…he wouldn't return to Heaven.

His suspicions were confirmed, however, when the dust cleared, revealing a grinning face surrounded by wings—glorious, radiant archangel's wings in various shades of gold and rich dark brown, almost like a hawk's—and gold-brown hair. Castiel's jaw dropped, and he could only stare for a long moment. When he finally found his voice again, he could muster only one word.

"_Gabriel?_" he demanded incredulously.

"Hey, bro. No time to explain—the alarm's gonna sound any second, so we gotta go," he said with an impish grin. Grabbing Castiel by the arm, the archangel dragged the seraph from the cell.

"Wait," Castiel protested, dragging his feet and glancing back. Gadreel had finally chosen to acknowledge his presence, and was watching with forlorn eyes. Gabriel followed his gaze and snorted.

"Cassy, tell me you're not serious."

Sending him a withering glare at the nickname, he nodded. "He doesn't deserve this, Gabriel," he insisted. With a put-on sigh and a slightly exasperated look, Gabriel snapped his fingers and another explosion destroyed Gadreel's cell as well. The angel stumbled slowly from the wreckage, staring at Castiel, who answered the obvious question before he could ask it.

"No angel deserves to be imprisoned for using the free will Father gave us," he said firmly, embracing his brother, who after a brief hesitation returned the hug. Their wings brushed together, and for a few moments their Graces reached out and brushed together, sharing a mutual understanding and forming a new bond between them, and Castiel couldn't help but smile in pure joy.

Gabriel tapped his foot impatiently, reminding both angels of their limited time. They separated and, exchanging quick grins, parted ways, Gadreel vanishing to Father knows where, Castiel rushing off with Gabriel, following his lead.

As he slipped through time and space, his wings beating rhythmically in time with his brother's beside him, Castiel felt his excitement grow as he realized they were heading to Earth. He was going to see Dean again, and the knowledge overjoyed him.

He knew things wouldn't be easy after this, but he also knew that any trouble he was in was worth it to be free.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dean<strong>_

Gabriel was taking too long. It had been hours. Was it supposed to take this long? Dean didn't think it was supposed to take this long. He was getting worried. He paced restlessly in the kitchen because Sam had kicked him out of the living room, saying he was being disruptive.

Sam. His attitude wasn't helping. Every time Dean would throw out some innocent, speculative comment about the Tricks—about Gabriel, his little brother's face would go cold and shut down, and he'd refuse to say a word until the subject was changed.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, glancing out the window. It was getting late—the sun would be down soon. Gabriel had promised he would get Cas, but he didn't say how long it would take…maybe he should call it a night and hope the angels would be back in the morning. He couldn't imagine sleeping, though, when the anticipation of seeing Cas again was so strong it was almost tangible in him, making him restless and anxious despite his exhaustion.

He kept pacing.

He paused every other round of the kitchen to rummage through the fridge, not out of hunger but just for something to do. Eventually, he grabbed a beer and cracked it open. He took a swig, making a face at the taste, but continued to drink as he paced.

Step, step, chug. Step, step, step, chug.

After finishing the first bottle, he cracked open another. Then another, and another, and another. Around the bottom half of the fourth bottle, he started to feel woozy and light-headed, and as he cracked open the sixth the room was starting to spin. But even being slightly drunk didn't help him feel any better. Actually, he felt worse, because he knew that Cas didn't like it when he got drunk and Cas would be unhappy if he came back and found Dean in this state, and Dean didn't want Cas unhappy.

He didn't know what he wanted when it came to Cas, but unhappy was definitely not it.

Thinking about Cas in his drunken state made his spinning head start to ache, and it made him feel fuzzy and slightly guilty and confused and sad and happy and…and a million different emotions that all crashed cataclysmically together into one huge mess of emotion that he didn't know how to name and didn't know what to do with. All he knew was that it confused him and he didn't like to think about it for some reason he couldn't quite recall at the moment.

He set the bottle down on the counter among countless others—Bobby was probably too busy saving their asses and bailing out other hunters to clean up—and staggered a bit as he exited the kitchen, suddenly unable to stand being in there for another moment. He ignored Sam and kept going right to the front door, staggering outside and inhaling the fresh, rapidly cooling evening air. He sat on the steps of the front porch and closed his eyes, leaning against the railing, and let his thoughts just wander in no particular direction.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, but when he opened his eyes again it was dark and the stars were out, so it must have been quite a while. He was shivering a little, and his head still felt fuzzy. He couldn't remember why he was outside, so he stood and staggered back inside, falling on the couch. Sam glanced up at him with a frown that he ignored, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling.

Sam said something to him that he didn't catch, so instead of responding he just grunted and closed his eyes. He heard Sam sigh, sounding irritated, and soon the sound was followed by the click of keys as he went back to his research. The sound was familiar, reminiscent of their countless nights together on the road—just the two of them against the world, reminding Dean of a simpler time in his life, before the angels and Lucifer and all the other crap that had happened the last year or so—and it lulled Dean into a doze, not quite asleep but not fully awake either.

After a while—God knew how long, and Dean didn't particularly care—a click was heard as Sam shut the laptop. Dean didn't even bother to open his eyes as Sam stood, pausing briefly by him, probably considering dragging him to bed and then deciding against it, shuffling upstairs instead. The floorboards in the ceiling creaked, and then the house was silent. Dean idly wondered where Bobby was—had he vanished on another hunt while he'd been too preoccupied to notice? It was possible—but his mind was too fuzzy to focus on anything for long.

He opened his eyes, but it was too dark to really see anything clearly, so he closed them again. The silence of the house would usually bother him, but at the moment it was peaceful. He didn't have to talk to anyone, didn't have to ignore the worried looks and pretend to be fine. He could just relax, which was a nice change of pace after the last couple of days.

As he relaxed, he felt like he was drifting, floating away, disconnected from Sam, from Bobby, from everything and everyone he usually worried about. It was a liberating feeling, not feeling responsible for everyone and everything for once. He wondered through the alcohol-haze why he felt like that was his job, but he didn't bother trying to figure it out, just let himself drift and sink into the fuzziness of his mind, and he slept.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Castiel<strong>_

He landed lightly in the living room where he'd left Dean—roughly a week had passed on Earth if his estimations were precise, though he could be a day or two off—and was assaulted by the smell of alcohol and the sound of snores. Using his Grace rather than his vessel's eyes, he saw Dean's soul, familiar and radiant as ever, flare up. Dean was sleeping on the couch, probably having consumed copious amounts of alcohol. Again. Usually that would irritate Castiel, but at the moment he found it so human, a familiar habit of Dean's, that it was soothing to him.

It was dark, so it made sense for them to be asleep, but still, Castiel was slightly disappointed. He had been hoping to speak with Dean—Michael's words were still echoing in his head, and he wanted an answer—but Dean so rarely slept…he was reluctant to interrupt him when he seemed to be resting peacefully. But he also didn't want to leave.

Gabriel had promised he would shield this house from Michael and the others who would be searching for him, so he and the Winchesters would be safe for the night. At the moment, spending the night with Dean—as he had so many nights previously—sounded much better than anything he could think of. The couch was small, though, smaller than any bed they had ever shared. Recalling all the times Dean had grouched at him and the many lectures about personal space, the angel couldn't bring himself to lie down in the small space between Dean and the back of the couch, no matter how badly he might want to. Instead, he sat on the floor, leaning his head against the couch. He didn't need to sleep or rest—he had done almost nothing else for a week in that accursed cell—he just wanted to be near Dean.

He smelled familiar, like soap and leather and something that was just purely _Dean_, some aromatic mix of his hormones and his skin, speaking to Castiel of familiarity and comfort and home. As the smell wafted to the angel, he breathed it in, and he felt like he'd come home.

_This._ This was home, not Heaven, where he felt isolated and estranged, he realized with a jolt. Here on Earth, fighting by the Winchester's sides, was where he belonged. As the realization settled over him, Castiel felt the rightness of it, and he knew he understood for the first time why Gabriel had left Heaven, and why he'd never come back.

As he settled next to Dean, listening to the steady breathing and watching his glimmering soul shine through the darkness, he knew with a grim certainty that he would do anything to defend his new home.

He would have to tell Dean in the morning of all that had transpired. But for now, he would let them rest.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Gabriel<strong>_

Castiel was a funny little guy, but Gabriel liked him. He was so naïve it was kind of amusing, but he was also blunt and had no censor from his thoughts to his mouth, which Gabriel approved of.

He knew that the angels would be hunting for Castiel by now, so he had promised the little seraph that he would protect the house from the angels for the night. He didn't know what he would do come morning, but he didn't worry. He was used to improvising.

So here he was, sitting on the roof of Robert Singer's house, watching the stars and using his Grace to shield the place and all its inhabitants from the hunting, probing Grace of Michael and all his little sycophants. Each time Michael came near this place, Gabriel's Grace surged with the power of a nuclear arsenal, and he would retreat hastily.

It was tiring, but knowing that Cassy and the Winchesters were safe meant it was also satisfying.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd cared so much about anyone but himself. It was strange, but also familiar, reminding him of the time before he ran, when he wasn't a selfish, loathsome coward, so he was alright with it for now.

He would wait and see how things developed, but he had a feeling that he was done running. He'd finally found something he cared about enough to stick around.

Smiling at the thought, the archangel watched the stars and continued his vigil through the night.

* * *

><p><strong>[AN: So yeah. Sorry this chapter was shorter than the last two...Did you like Gabriel's cameo though? Should he come back again in the next installment? I haven't quite decided if he'll be back in the next chapter yet, but he'll most definitely be in the sequel, but I doubt any Sabriel will leak through (it's possible but not likely since it's a Destiel fic).]**

**[I'm sorry for how awkward and sloppy the ending of this chapter was, I know it sucks but I couldn't think ofa better way to end it. Sorry sorry sorry so sorry guys! I'll try to make the next chapter better, since it'll be the last chapter. And there **_**will **_**be an epilogue following it, but that'll be it for this story. Then the sequel, whoo! (See my profile page for more info on that.)]**

**[That's all I have for now. Peace out bitches, and DFTBA!]**

—**Makky**


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